While the Stars Burn
by RedheadedMarina
Summary: Charles Xavier wants to help a new teacher move beyond pain and control her mutant abilities. He never thought her skills would reach back for him in turn. AU-Charles/OC
1. Chapter 1

Professor Xavier always felt a sense of anticipation when a new mutant arrived at the school. For most of them, this was the first place where they would feel truly accepted, a place where they would expand their skills and grow into their powers. However, today was different. The mutant who would be arriving was not a child, or even a teenager. She was a woman. And, unlike most of the mutants who crossed the threshold into his school, she was, as far as Charles could tell, unaware of her powers.

It was really quite fascinating, he mused as he walked along the corridor. Most mutants became aware of their differences in adolescence-usually when the powers escaped their control for the first time. But there had been no such experience for Zara Reilly. Charles wondered if he was doing the right thing by bringing her here. There were reasons why things had stayed hidden for her. He smiled quietly. The children needed a new experience, and she was one of the most qualified available to teach them this. If other things happened as a result, he would do his best to help it be positive.

She was standing with her back to the door as he entered, watching a group of children on the lawn playing soccer. He could see the curve of her smile as she watched.

Charles cleared his throat. "Miss Reilly?"

She turned quickly. "Yes? Yes! How do you do? You must be Professor Xavier. It's very nice to finally meet you."

He returned her smile and extended his hand. "The pleasure is truly mine, Miss Reilly. It's going to be a privilege to have you with us." She stepped forward and shook his hand.

_Pain..._

It sliced through his head briefly and was gone. Charles had put his normal shields in place as he did each day, but just barely kept his expression pleasant as the feeling shot through him. Her face hadn't changed at all. She was still smiling. She was genuinely pleased to meet him. Where that feeling had come from, he couldn't say, but he would not open his mind further to try and touch hers. He focused on what she was saying.

"I must admit, Professor, I'm very excited to be here. This will be the first time your students have performed Shakespeare?"

He laughed.

"Yes indeed. Please-". He indicated that she should sit. " I'm sure you'll think it criminally negligent of me as a teacher, but so many things seem to have taken precedence up until now. The children have studied some plays, of course, and read them aloud in class, but this will be their first time actually performing."

Zara Reilly's eyes lit up. "How wonderful. It's wonderful of you to even consider it. A lot of schools don't, these days."

"Well, I spent quite a while in the UK, so I suppose I do have a bit of a bias."

She smiled back at him. "Whatever it takes, Professor."

* * *

"So, tell me honestly, what do you think about when you hear the name 'Shakespeare'?"

There was silence. Zara waited patiently. Finally, one child piped up. "Boring."

"Yes! Boring!" The new teacher actually seemed thrilled with that answer, instead of getting mad. Another pause, this one shorter. "Funny words."

"Definitely, funny words. Not like any words you use, right?"

Ororo laughed. "No way!"

"So how come we have to do it, then?" Scott asked from the back of the room.

Zara smiled. "Because you're going to find out that Shakespeare is a lot of fun."

She didn't seem fazed at all by the suspicious looks on their faces.

* * *

Zara was always grateful at the end of the day. It meant she could go home, wherever that was, close the door, and let the mask drop. She could walk slowly if she needed to, move in the way that caused her the least pain. Plus, as antisocial as it was, there was something that soothed her about being shut inside.

Her new home could not have been more comfortable. She had her own bathroom and windows that looked over rolling green hills and a tiny sliver of lake in the distance. The furnishings were luxurious. Zara sighed with pleasure. The children were bright, and the location was ideal. It would be a wonderful job. Maybe the Professor would have her back next year, if things went well.

_Don't get ahead of yourself, lady._ Boy, could she dream. It was the end of the first day and she was already planning for next year.

There was a gentle knock at the door. Zara went to open it-she was still in her work clothes, although her shoes were off. The Professor was on the other side.

"Miss Reilly."

"Hello, Professor."

"I came to tell you that dinner is served for the faculty every night in the small dining room. Won't you join us?"

Oh, no. Yes, she was hungry but if she put her shoes back on and started walking again, she wouldnt be able to hide her stiff joints. Not recommended, displaying your weaknesses in front of the boss on the first day. She could live without dinner.

"Thank you so much, Professor, but I actually planned to do some text work on the play and go to bed early. I want the children to start trying parts tomorrow."

Instead of a polite goodnight, his eyes lit up and he smiled. "Text work already? Which edition will you be using?

He knew Shakespeare, he knew books. _Of course he does, you idiot_, Zara muttered to herself. _He's THE Professor, for God's sake_. She returned his smile. "Riverside, for text work. I'll use the Arden series for the actual script."

"How marvelous. What will you do if they disagree?"

She had to laugh at that, but she was proud to have an answer. "The Norton edition will be the tiebreaker."

"You have two different editions of Shakespeare's complete works?"

"Yes, but two really isn't that many. Some of my colleagues have five or six, and of course there's always a new one coming out."

"This is wonderful. We must continue this conversation over dinner. I'll show you to the dining room—" and he began to turn towards the hall.

"No-"

Xavier turned back to face her. "No?"

"Please forgive me, I would love to continue the conversation, just...not tonight. I really want to get this done and early bed, prep for tomorrow.".

"But, Miss Reilly, _I_ really want you to eat. I noticed that you didn't have lunch today because you were talking with some of the children."

_He noticed that, did he?_ Well, it didn't change anything. "I'm truly not hungry tonight. First day jitters and everything. Tomorrow will be different. Could we continue then?"

He smiled. "Of course. But, I'll have a dinner tray sent to your room." He held up one finger to stop her protest. "Fling the tray out the window if you'd rather, but I _will_ send it."

She had to laugh at that. "I guess that's fair. And I appreciate your checking in."

"Of course. You did quite well today. Ororo is especially excited." He turned and began walking down the hall. "I will see you at breakfast in the morning," he called back, half-friendly and half-commanding.

* * *

Charles made sure to be there, involved in conversation with other teachers, when Zara did arrive for breakfast in the morning. He watched her get her bearings and then serve herself eggs and fruit. He caught her eye and smiled a greeting, then went right back into his discussion, keeping a small corner of his mind alert.

He didn't want to read her thoughts. He tried to keep that off the table, always, until and unless someone gave him permission. What people didn't realize was that doing that constantly was like trying to _not_ hear a radio that someone else turned on. It wasn't his fault that he could hear it, and it wasn't their fault that they didn't want him to hear it. There were plenty of reasons to read her, read anyone: he was in charge, reponsible etc. Reasons against: once he read her, he would know more, and that knowledge might compel him to act, to help her or protect someone else, and just when he might need her trust would be when she discovered that he had already betrayed it. Perhaps a compromise, then, he considered as he sipped his tea. He sent his energy outward, stopping just short of the boundaries of Zara's mind.

_Pain. Like a nail gun through the wrist; an ache in the neck. Careful, don't lift that with just one hand-_

Charles placed his teacup a little too firmly in the saucer. "Sorry," he said absently as people glanced his way.

* * *

"So tell me, how are you getting along?"

It was normal for him to check in with all of the faculty regularly, and usually informally, but Zara was new, so he had called her to his office before dinner one evening.

"Very well, thank you, Professor."

"What's your impression so far of the students?"

"They're excellent. We're in the phase now where it seems all analysis and wordy-words to them, but they're giving it a good try. I'm really enjoying working with them."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"But I have a question for you."

"I hope it's not about Shakespeare, Miss Reilly, as my knowledge nowhere near equals yours."

"I was wondering how you might feel about having an evening of monologues and scenes, instead of an entire play."

"Interesting. Is a full play a little too ambitious for their level of experience?"

"No, not at all. It's just they're all so different, I don't want to confine them all inside one play, at least not yet. I can already see Hank as the Old Shepherd, and Scott as Hotspur, and Ororo as Imogen. I think they'd have more fun this way."

"I'm sorry...Hank as the _Old _Shepherd?"

"From The Winter's Tale. _'I would there were no age between sixteen and three-and twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest, for there is nothing in the interim but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting-'"_

He couldn't help but laugh. "I've never heard that one before...but it actually sounds like Hank."

"You know, because he's so precise and grown up already. When the kids run around him and joke, all he can think of is that they might jostle one of his projects."

"That's wonderful-and true. But, technically he's not a student. What if he says no?"

"Then he says no...but I think he will, if I give him time."

"Then I shall not stand in your way. I think the idea of scenes and monologues will be excellent. Go ahead in whatever way you think best." She smiled in response. "Now tell me, how are you personally getting along?"

"Very well. This is a beautiful school. I'm enjoying every minute."

Fair or not, Charles again extended his energy to just outside Zara's boundaries. This was more difficult with her than some others, as her edges of her mind felt a bit more...fluid...than others'. He couldn't feel a sharp delineation. But as he hovered outside, there it was again: _Pain. It aches to be upright. Soon I can sit still..._

"And, have you been feeling well? Some of the teachers have told me the house can get a bit damp; it's quite old. If you feel a cold, or any aches coming on, will you tell me?"

She looked back at him without the smallest change of expression. "That's very kind of you. Of course I will."

And there was nothing for it but to dismiss her. "Then I won't keep you from your dinner."

"Thank you." She smiled and as she rose he felt her teeth grit and the pain shudder. Whatever it was, she felt it was worth lying about. She walked to the door—_was there something odd about her gait?_—and let herself out quietly.

Charles had been debating whether or not to take this step without her permission, but his need for answers finally outweighed his efforts to remain at a respectful distance. She was always smiling and friendly. The children liked her. He liked her. They had enjoyed several fascinating conversations about Shakespeare and theatre. Zara was very intelligent and didn't mind debating with him, which was refreshing. For someone who was supposedly entirely human, she had not expressed so much as a flicker of surprise at the children's powers. The children assumed she was one of them, and Charles was idly pleased that his lessons on manners seemed to be taking hold—none of the students had cheerfully asked her to "show them hers," at least not yet. She was enthusiastic and truly enjoyed her work.

And yet, every time he came near, he felt the waves of pain radiating from her. They were muted, definitely, but if that much was getting through while she smiled and encouraged the children in class, there must be much more underneath. He tried to convince himself that he was acting solely for the good of the school and the students, but he knew that part of it was, he wanted to understand her. He wanted to know where such pain was coming from. And, he wanted to help her. He closed his eyes, relaxed, and reached out.

Tendrils of pain snaked through his mind. She _was_ physically hurting. Charles went a little deeper and the pain was infused with sadness and hopelessness. He felt her emotions begin to catch hold of him and so he backed away slightly, standing a bit removed so that he would not become overwhelmed. Understanding began to flicker in his mind.

Her mutation was attacking her.

Charles always tried to speak of mutation as a gift, a demonstration of the power of Nature, to keep the children positive, even for those who suffered with a gift that was very "extreme", as he called it. Zara's gift was extreme, and it was locked away behind shields that seemed to be as strong and as well constructed as those he had spent years in creating for himself. Yet, something was odd. With shields that strong, he should have faced significant resistance when entering her mind. These shields hadn't been created to keep him, or anyone else, out. They had been created to _keep her in_.

Charles pulled back and opened his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

Zara was in significant physical pain. It saddened him, but didn't surprise him. Mutations exacted a price from their hosts. Those like Raven...he closed his eyes as her face flashed in his mind...and Hank wore the price on their skin for all to see. For others, it was more hidden, but no less painful. However, what really intrigued Charles was that he hadn't yet gotten a picture of what Zara's gift was. Her gift was hidden from him-and from her-behind those shields. And the price was that her body was protesting with pain every time she moved.

He reached out again, and easily sank a little further into her mind. Zara was putting so much effort into keeping herself inside those shields, where the pain (and her gift) were somewhat at bay, that she had nothing extra with which to feel what he was doing-his mental energy simply became another part of the white noise she was hiding from. Still, he had to be careful. Removing those blocks before she was ready, before truly understanding why she had constructed them in the first place, would be traumatic in the extreme. So Charles moved carefully around the shields and allowed images from her mind to speak to him.

Pain. Pain when she walked, when she sat down, when she stayed still. She was limping a bit now, because it was the end of the day. Charles dissolved his energy into smaller and smaller components until he could see the heightened immune responses attacking the molecules in her joints. Her body was in a constant state of emergency, though she hid it brilliantly. Something was trying to make itself known to her and she wouldn't listen, so it had resorted to gaining her attention through pain and distress, like a child inviting punishment.

Compassion flooded through him.

* * *

"I wonder if you would mind waiting a minute, Zara."

He had never used her first name before. She was surprised, but tried to mask it. "Of course, Professor."

He smiled. "You've been here for weeks. Surely you can call me Charles by now?"

"Certainly, if you'd prefer it. I haven't wanted to appear-"

"Unprofessional, I know." He cut her off gently. "But, Zara, I would appreciate it if you would call me Charles, because I have some things to say to you that are of a personal nature." He smiled to put her at ease. "Please, sit."

She sat. Only someone who was watching carefully would see that her movements were not entirely fluid-the pain always increased at the end of the day. Zara looked at him expectantly.

"Prof...Charles. I hope you'll feel comfortable telling me anything you think I need to know." No doubt she thought he would be speaking of his own personal issues, not hers.

"Thank you for that, Zara. To begin, I simply have an observation-you've been here for a while now, and we've discussed the children's progress almost every day. In all that time, you've never thought to mention to me their particular...gifts?"

She tried to evade. "Well, I'm one of those annoying teachers that think all children have gifts, I suppose-"

"That's not what I mean, Zara, and I think you know that."

She paused. "This is a school for the gifted. You are their primary teacher. You know them better than I ever could. You never mentioned it, so I didn't think you needed me to specifically mention that the children here are all mutants. Ultimately, it doesn't matter to my work what kind of extra—gifts—they have."

"But you _have_ noticed?"

Zara smiled quietly. "Of course. They're children; they like to show off. And they obviously feel comfortable doing that here." Her brow furrowed. "Is there a problem?"

"Not in the way you might think. Of course, I wish to keep them protected. The least of my concerns is those who might mock them, and unfortunately there are far greater things to worry about than that. That's why we're so...isolated, if you will. In fact, as you might also have noticed, there are very few teachers or staff here that do not have "gifts" of their own. I simply won't risk having someone here that can't be trusted. Plus, the best role models for the students are those who have dealt with their own mutations."

"I'm honored by your trust, but if that's the case-"

"Why did I bring you here? For that exact reason. The best role models for the students are those who have dealt—or are dealing with—their own mutations."

"I'm sorry; I don't follow you."

Here was the opportunity.

"Zara, I hired you for this job because you are very qualified, you are an excellent teacher, and you are dealing with a mutation."

She froze. There was a pause. "I assume you're referring to the arthritis."

Charles met her gaze evenly. "What arthritis? You never mentioned any kind of illness when you interviewed for the job."

And, _fuck all_, he had caught her in the lie, easy as that. She closed her eyes for a minute to regroup. "All right, yes. I do have arthritis; I've had it for years. Of course I didn't disclose it in the interview. I needed and wanted this job. And, I might add, it does not affect my ability to do the job." She tried to keep the edge out of her voice. "But I know the last thing any employer wants is to worry about the health of an employee."

"I think we can perhaps agree that you might be unfamiliar with what I want."

Well, _that _stung.

"I apologize. I just meant that...in my experience-the knowledge affects people, no matter how much they try to ignore it."

"Oh, you're correct on that front. Knowledge always changes us. We have to try and make sure the changes are for the better."

Zara took a breath. "Professor. Now that you know...are you asking me to leave the job?"

They were back to "Professor," already, Charles realized. Not a good sign. "Absolutely not. I'm asking you to be receptive to some new knowledge."

"I...um-" She wildly considered what would happen if she said _no_. "All right."

"There are all kinds of mutations, large and small, noticeable and invisible. Most people are walking around with at least a few mutations and never know about them. In fact, it's more "normal" to have some mutations, somewhere, than to not have any at all. I have blue eyes-that's one mutation. You have red hair-that's another one. These mutations are called "neutral"-they don't harm us, or help us really. They simply differentiate us." He looked at Zara to gauge her reaction. She didn't yet have that "get-to-the-POINT" look that the students got when he was getting wordy.

"Then, there are beneficial mutations. All of the students here have some kind of beneficial mutation, something that can help them, whether it's increased strength, sight, agility, or thought. It may not always seem beneficial, especially to the students themselves. We won't know for a long time if these mutations will be passed on and increase the strength of the overall population. And then, the harmful mutations, which I have a feeling you know all about."

"So what you're saying, Professor, is that even though my mutation is harmful to me, it's a mutation, so I qualify to teach at your school?"

"Hardly." He pushed away the pain that wanted to flare up in his chest. God, he missed Erik. Nobody told you that when you lost someone, it wasn't ever really over and done with. You _kept on_ losing them, every time you wished they were there, just to ask one question, just to share one thing they would appreciate better than anyone else. Erik, Raven, Moira... How would Erik handle this? Bluntly. He would tell Zara she was a mutant, tell her to make a choice, and walk away. If she followed, fine.

Perhaps it would be easier that way, for him and Zara both. Charles would never know.

I'm not talking about the pain, actually."

Her eyes locked on his. "Then what are you talking about?"

"Yes, the pain is caused by a mutation, but that's not the mutation I'm interested in, other than it hurts you, and I want that to stop."

"Well, I appreciate that, but I want it to stop too, and it never has." Now she couldn't keep the edge from her voice.

"Will you at least listen to me?"

"I am listening. It has to be the arthritis. There's nothing else."

"Zara. There is."

Confusion mixed with fear began to scratch at the corners of his mind. "I don't know what you mean, Professor."

"You do. Perhaps it doesn't seem like anything special, just something that's always been there."

"Most mutants manifest their powers in or before adolescence, correct? I've never had any kind of manifestation. No powers." She smiled limply. "Sorry."

"The key word there is "most", Zara. I believe you've suppressed your abilities."

"What makes you think that?"

"As irritating as it might sound, I have very good intuition."

"If you don't know what abilities they might be, how can you be so sure that I have any at all?"

"Again, intuition."

"I'm telling you the truth, even though it sounds like I might lose my job for it."

"I promise, your job isn't in danger, Zara."

Zara stood. A whine of pain raced through his mind. "I'm not a mutant. I actually wish that wasn't the case. I'd like to have a gift that would make _something_ easier for me." She was heading for the door, her limp obvious as her control eroded. "But you are mistaken, Professor."

_**Zara. Stop. **_

Charles' voice, somehow amplified, echoed around her and _inside_ her. She stopped dead, still facing the door. In what seemed like the next instant, she was sitting again and Charles was across from her, so close they could have touched, his blue eyes holding hers.

"I've frightened you, Zara, and I wish I didn't have to. Believe me, I tried to think of another way. But, not dealing with this would cause you more pain in the long run, though, and-I don't want that."

"But...why?"

"Do you want to have a guess as to what my mutation is?"

Her eyes got wider. Something else she hadn't considered. "I'm a telepath, Zara. I know you have a mutation because I've been feeling it since you arrived here."

"You're a telepath...?" _Oh no, no no no no..._

"Yes. Your symptoms began when you were thirteen. In adolescence," he said pointedly. "Since then, it's gotten worse. You take five medicines each morning and four each evening. You had heart surgery at nineteen and almost died from an unexplained pulmonary embolism when you were twenty-three." Charles leaned forward. "You believe things will never get better."

Fear, stronger than she had felt in a long time, surged in her. She tried to hold it together. "You're a telepath, and you have students to protect. Either way, knowing those facts proves you either did research or you pulled them from my mind. And unless you and I have very different ideas about what a "gift" is, nothing you've said changes anything. " She placed her hand on the arm of the couch and shoved herself upward. She had to get out of here before she started to cry.

_**Zara, please.**_

The voice resonated inside her again.

_**Don't be afraid.**_

A feeling of calm started to seep into her. She pushed against it, but it amplified, and she felt herself take a deep breath, the fear retreating to the back of her mind. It was...less important. It was a relief.

_**Zara. I want to help you. I want to try and stop the pain.**_

Sobs suddenly flowed out of her, tears hot as they slid down her cheeks, and she collapsed back on to the couch. It took a few tries to get the words out.

"You c-can't. There's no-nothing to be done. I just...have to live with it."

Charles touched her then, gently on her wrist. "That's where you're wrong. And if you'll let me, I'll prove it to you."

"No...no," she said quietly, not even sure why she was protesting any longer.

"All right, no," Charles said calmly, keeping his hand on her wrist and his touch on her mind. He gently pressed again on the tiny area that had begun to glow fitfully when he relaxed her. He would never force the choice on her, on anyone. She could continue to refuse, but the refusal would not be because she was afraid. "You've said no. I've heard you." He skimmed across her mind, touching synapses that pulsed and fired in response. "You're tired, Zara. I'm going to take you to your room, and you're going to go to bed. A good sleep, no dreams, no pain. You'll remember all this, but we won't talk about it again until you want to."

And then, she was in her room, going through the motions of getting ready for bed. She felt...better. Like someone was right behind her, she could almost feel their warmth, all she had to do was lean back and she would be supported, protected. Somewhere, a soft protest rose up in her mind, but she brushed it aside, it melted, and she fell asleep.

Charles, standing just outside her door, felt Zara's mind relax into sleep and he sighed as the stress dissolved in the back of his mind. He stretched out a delicate strand of thought, let it flow until it curved around the edge of one of her mind's shields. He focused it into a point, saw it glow like metal in a fire—_Erik—_and allowed the point to touch her outermost shield.

He expanded it slightly, held it there, until it burned a tiny hole and a pinpoint of light shone in, where light had not been for a long time. More importantly, a breath of a glow came back the other way, and Charles smiled as it appeared.


	2. Chapter 2

Zara woke the next morning feeling refreshed. As she carefully stretched her legs out, testing their flexibility, she was pleasantly surprised to find that they had not stiffened up overnight as they usually did. She placed her feet down and watched as they molded themselves to the floor, again without pain. This would be a good day.

The memories started to come back while she dried her hair in front of the mirror. She had been talking to the Prof...no, Charles. A good conversation, friendly and she had learned things. They had talked about...mutations. All of the students here had them, but she knew that. Charles had a mutation too, he said straight out that he was a telepath. They didn't have to talk about her own mutation until she wanted to...

The room lurched around her as the rest of the conversation bubbled up.

_"I'd like to help you find out what your gifts are."_

_"I believe you've suppressed your abilities."_

_"I want to help you. I want to try and stop the pain."_

Zara looked at her legs and feet with new understanding. Had Charles done that? How could he accomplish something that all the doctors said was impossible? There would always be pain, it was just a matter of how much, and it would increase over time.

_A degenerative disease._

When Zara had first been diagnosed, her primary emotion was actually relief. Finally there was a name, a treatment, things that could be done. She didn't have to suffer in silence anymore. She had thanked the doctors, swallowed the pills, and constructed a new positive outlook as someone "living with" rheumatoid arthritis. She could do this. She was strong. It could be a hell of a lot worse. The changes had been slow and insidious in coming, the losses tiny until she began to add them up. She didn't ride horses anymore, didn't play soccer, didn't feel like going dancing on the weekends. Take the meds; be sick to your stomach. Don't take the meds and have the pain. She started to spend more time alone. She was drained from being around people. Their emotions, good and bad, seemed to press in on her and leech away the precious, precious energy that she needed to keep moving and to keep herself from crying out when the pain surprised her.

As she remembered how their conversation had ended last night—s_he had another mutation. Charles said so. He said he'd been feeling it—_Zara wondered where the fear had gone. She kept reaching for it, like a necklace, something that you always checked without really thinking about it. She wanted to hold the fear in front of herself and filter the entire scene through its lens, but she couldn't. It wasn't there.

_"We won't talk about it again until you want to." _And Zara thought for a minute, and realized she didn't want to. Not yet. Not until she was sure.

She finished dressing and grabbed her bag. She could actually use her fingers instead of easing it onto her shoulder directly from the desk. It really was going to be a good day. She would thank Charles for that, at least.

But for some reason, he seemed to be infuriatingly just out of reach that morning, and over the next few days as well. He was friendly, but always in motion, always talking to another teacher or student about something important. He smiled at her, included her in group conversations, and was unfailingly courteous, _so British, _she grumbled to herself. Not that she was an authority on anything British, but...somehow, that ability to lull you into relaxation with that incredible accent while simultaneously avoiding the very thing you wanted to talk about...it seemed to be something that the British learned right along with the rules to cricket and how to make tea using an actual teapot.

And then the next day, he wasn't there at all.

"Recruitment trip," one of the other faculty said when she asked. "There are a couple of candidates for the school and he's gone to interview them and the families. They might start in a couple of months if it all works out."

Zara tried to sound enthusiastic. "It's great that he spends all that time himself. I don't know how he manages it."

The other teacher laughed. "I know, it seems impossible. But, he's amazing at working with new students, especially those that are scared of their mutations or have had difficulty integrating at school or at home. Somehow, he knows just how to connect with everyone."

He knows how to connect with anyone. _So it's not you, not your amazing brilliance or your stunning good looks. He can—and does—do this for anyone._ Zara wasn't sure why that realization annoyed her rather than comforted her. _Presenting Zara Reilly, glass-half-empty expert, at your service. Now, get the hell over yourself and get to work._ Zara stood, swallowing a groan as her joints protested the movement, and headed off to class.

Still, she was in a good mood. She actually had the giggles for the first time in forever, over the most ridiculous thing-Bobby pretending to sneeze icicles out of his nose at Kitty. Kitty played her part to perfection, shrieking and running away, but Zara knew she thought it was funny, and for some reason, Zara could not stop laughing about it. She felt exactly like she was Kitty's age again, happily screaming and trying to escape a boy who was hoping to throw a grasshopper on her. Zara had never been afraid of grasshoppers, but that moment didn't seem like the time to mention it. She tried to explain to others when they asked her what was so funny, but no one seemed as tickled as she was. She ended each conversation with "well, you had to _be_ there." She was still smiling as she brushed her teeth that night, and the need to talk to Charles seemed less significant...but she still wished he was nearby. Just to be there.

So, to distract herself, she buried herself in work, created extra-credit study groups that ran in the evening after dinner, and woke up early to grade papers and go over lesson plans that had been set weeks ago. She had a renewed interest in fitness (good for the joints, you know) and would sneak down at odd times to do water-walking in the pool. Zara especially liked the pool at night since it was so quiet, and it helped to relieve some of the stress she had been feeling. Lately, she had a feeling she couldn't get rid of, one that tensed up her neck and shoulders. It was like being in school, knowing that in _just one second_ that kid was going to scratch his nails down the chalkboard to make everyone shudder. She could plunge her head under the water and that feeling disappeared. She could float, surrounded and supported by water, her cranky joints soothed, the surrounding noise quieted.

Later that week, on top of everything else, it seemed like she was losing the children's attention. While she knew that no child, human or mutant, was truly able to stay silent during an entire class, now it was like all of the tiny conversations and glances aggravated the nails-on-the-chalkboard feeling.

"Who's talking?" she called out one day as she was facing the blackboard, writing out the correct scansion for a rhyming couplet.

"Um...nobody, Miss Reilly..." Bobby answered slowly.

"Really?" Zara turned around and scanned the class with an expression that previous students had affectionately named the Face of Doom. All of the students looked back at her with that slightly injured righteousness of the falsely accused. Now, any teacher that took a kid's word that he/she wasn't misbehaving deserved whatever happened to them, but something told her that this time, it was the truth. However, she _had_ heard someone talking.

"All right, then let me just say that I _agree_ Jean would make a lovely Juliet." Over in the corner, Scott began to cough. "But, _Romeo and Juliet_ is done a lot and I'd rather we work on different scenes for now. Do you need water, Scott?"

"Yes..." Scott said tightly, and ran out of the room. Zara turned back to finish her writing, and it did seem a little quieter now.

That evening, Zara was on the rotation to supervise the students' dinner service. This was something she really enjoyed, and she tried to turn a blind eye to minor food-flinging and teasing, as long as it didn't get out of hand. The only time she'd had to really lower the boom was when one student was stabbing a friend's hand with a fork, the better to practice his healing (and disgust the girls sitting nearby). Tonight she was sitting with a few of the younger girls, apologizing for accidentally putting Ororo's serving of pudding on the dish tray when she wasn't yet finished. As Zara got up to request another dish of pudding for Ororo, it suddenly came over her in a wave.

_Shame._

The blood rushed up into her face, her pulse raced, she was so embarrassed that it felt like she might melt, right there. Was everyone looking at her? They must be. She chanced a quick look around, but no one _was_ looking at her. Scott was sitting with a few friends, who were laughing about something; Jean was by herself, absorbed in a book; John was actually stacking dishes for once instead of trying to melt them.

_Shame. How could you be so stupid?_

She slid a new dish of pudding onto her palm and carried it back to Ororo quickly. Her face felt hotter by the second-without even a word to the students she had been sitting with, she walked quickly over to another teacher.

_So embarrassing, now everyone probably knows..._

"Can you finish here? I feel—I have to—" and she walked out without even waiting for a response. She knew she couldn't get back to her room in time, so instead she rushed to her classroom, hid against the wall, and cried. Without knowing why.

When the tears finally ran out, Zara sat by the window and cooled her face against the glass. What could be going on with her? Crazy PMS? No, not unless it was starting early, which quite frankly would be her kind of luck. But no. Had she done something embarrassing? Probably. Maybe it was a mercy that she couldn't remember exactly what. Then she'd be worrying over which student would tell the Professor that her bra had been showing, or if they were discussing her unfortunate habit of starting too many sentences with the words "and, so...". Better to forget it. But—maybe she would talk to Charles soon. Tomorrow. Or soon. It might be worth simply hearing his opinion, it didn't mean she had to agree.

She was in the middle of grading papers the next afternoon when a quick glance outside revealed Charles getting out of a car and walking back up the drive to the school. _He was back. _

That evening, he updated the whole faculty about his trip. One mutant would be joining the school in the fall, and the other wanted to wait awhile. He was glad to be back and looked forward to hearing how the students were doing. If anyone had any pressing matters, they could come to his office after dinner to discuss it. He wasn't saying it to her. _He does this with everyone._ Zara no longer cared. She needed to talk to him. She was _going_ to talk to him. Discretion, meet window. It was time.

* * *

She spent an unpleasant half-hour lurking down the hall from his office, making sure other teachers with issues had come and gone. Of course she was standing the whole time, which caused her joints to start aching early, but she ruthlessly pushed the pain away. Zara rallied the last bit of nerve she had, walked to the door, and knocked.

"Come in," Charles called.

Charles lifted his head from the reports on his desk, and a burst of pleasure accompanied the sight of Zara coming through the door. He rose quickly and came around the desk, a smile spreading across his face. "Zara. What can I do for you?"

There was a long pause. Zara didn't move, just stared at him, a vessel of potential energy ready to explode in any number of ways. Her eyes bored into his and her hands shook. Charles didn't say anything, just returned her gaze calmly, sending _friendship_ and _safety_ back to her, but nothing else. She had to do this of her own accord. She had to want it.

Finally she took a breath and said something that didn't make sense. "It's—getting louder."

"Yes," he agreed softly. "You couldn't hold it off forever. No one could. You've been so strong, Zara, but now it's time to listen."

"It hurts..."

"It's hurt too much for too long. I know it."

This was the toughest admission. "I—am scared."

"I know, love. I know." And, propriety be damned, he held her gently as she tried not to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

Zara wanted nothing more than to simply have a good cry on his shoulder, but the possibility of her nose running or mascara dripping onto his shirt helped her choke the sobs back. His arms around her felt so _good_, damn it. If this were a movie, she would cry beautiful tears with her makeup staying in place (or looking like she never had to wear makeup at all, may Hollywood roast in hell). Her face would NOT be turning redder than a beet. And he would—

—_NOT be a telepath, which he IS, Zara, so please get a hold of yourself before he hears these thoughts and starts laughing, which you completely deserve, because you have poured all kinds of stupid into the last five minutes!_

Zara pulled away and stood bolt upright. Charles dropped his hands from her waist as though he had been burned. "Are you all right, Zara?"

Embarrassment made her words come out stiffly. "What exactly is it that's so loud?"

"I'm not yet sure-"

"But you have an idea?"

He hesitated. "Yes."

"Then tell me."

"Would you please answer a question first?"

"No, I will not answer a question. I want an answer from _you_."

"Please, Zara. I'm not trying to evade this. I will be completely honest. But I need to know your answer first so that I can give you a clear answer in return."

She didn't want to back down, but she knew he was telling the truth. "Fine," she whispered.

"Thank you." He lowered his voice. "I know this is difficult. But can you tell me exactly what it is that's getting louder?"

"That's what I just asked you!" she snapped.

A bit of heat finally came into his voice. "I need your perspective on this, Zara; it's _very_ important. Answer me."

She looked shocked at his change in tone, but answered immediately. "I'm sorry. I don't know..." she said quietly, her voice shaking.

His voice softened again. "That's all right. Is it a sound? A feeling?"

She thought for a moment. "A feeling."

"That's a good start," he reassured her. He took a tiny step towards her and gently touched her arm. "Let's sit."

"Okay," she said quietly, and turned towards the sitting area in his office. In the next instant, she hissed and grabbed at the back of the chair for support, and he quickly opened his mind to hers. He heard her cry out as pain shot up from her leg and wrist at the same time. Mentally, he raced through her brain, finding the blooming colors of the pain centers and encasing them in energy, cutting them off from sending their angry signals. Zara swayed, and he guided her onto the sofa before she fell. Planning to ask forgiveness later, Charles gently brushed neurons that released serotonin and natural morphine. Then, he touched her forehead gently and murmured: "There's no more pain for now, Zara. Relax." He watched her just long enough to make sure she didn't need an additional suggestion, then went to work on that perfect time-filler: making tea.

When he brought the tea back, she was curled up on her side and her face was more relaxed. "Here," he said, placing a cup in front of her. "Drink that; no excuses." She raised her head enough to take a long sip, then rested back on the couch.

"So, what is it?" she asked, her voice almost sleepy.

"Well, first I have to tell you something. In our last conversation, do you remember my saying that I believed you had suppressed your abilities?"

"Yes...but to be honest, I didn't believe you."

He smiled. "You didn't have any reason to. But, once I realized how much you were hurting, I felt the need to take some matters into my own hands."

"What kind of matters, Charles?"

"Now, hear me out, all right?"

"Stop beating around the bush, then."

"Zara, I read your mind. I try not to ever do that without permission, but I did with you for several reasons." He went on quickly. "One, it would be very irresponsible for me to say that you had a mutation without confirming it. Short of hooking you up to one of Hank's machines, this was the easiest way to find out. Second, as I mentioned before, everyone here is my responsibility. I've seen mutations manifest in ways you cannot imagine; they can endanger everyone despite the best intentions and efforts to control it. Third, you were in a lot of pain. I know you still are. I wouldn't walk past you on the street without trying to help you; I don't consider this to be any different."

The look in his eyes and intensity of his voice made her blush. She didn't trust herself to speak-she just nodded.

Charles took a breath and got to the point. "Zara, I think you have been gifted with enhanced mental abilities. I think you are an empath. Empaths pick up on feelings, and yours have been so strong recently that they've been overwhelming, yes?"

Zara sat up, slowly. "How could you know that?"

"After I entered your mind for the first time, it made it very easy to distinguish your thoughts again. The day you couldn't stop laughing? Bobby's attention to Kitty made her happy, and you felt it. Strongly. She was happy all day, and you were too. That day in class when you heard the talking? That was Scott thinking of Jean as Juliet. His friends were teasing him about it at dinner, and you picked it up."

"Oh, no..." Zara groaned as the memory came back. "I never intended to embarrass him..."

"He knows. You didn't mention his name. His friends put two and two together. Correctly." He smiled. "We've all had to deal with friends like that."

"Why is it so intense, all of a sudden? I've never felt like this before."

"You have me to thank for that as well, I'm afraid. For lack of a better description, I cut a hole in one of the shields protecting your mind."

There was a long pause.

"You did _what_?"

"You've constructed very strong shields in your mind, but they are...one-dimensional. I can get around them, because they weren't designed to keep other minds out. You created them to keep you safe, but now you literally have yourself trapped, Zara. It's like lancing a boil. You have to cut an opening for the infection to escape."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you about to tell me that you did this for my own good?"

"It's the truth."

"And my mind is infected."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"I know you are an unbelievably arrogant man."

"I might be—"

"_You are!_" Zara started to get to her feet. "How could you do something like that without even discussing it with me?"

Charles stood as well and purposefully invaded her space, so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. "Discuss something you wouldn't even admit existed? Not even the possibility? Are you really trying to convince me that you would have listened if I pressed the issue?"

She tried to move around him. "I'm leaving, Professor."

He stood his ground and held her gaze, his face impassive. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Zara knew she would have to push him if she wanted to get by. It was tempting, but something held her back.

Then Charles fired the last shot in his locker. "If you leave, you'll never know."

He felt the slightest change in her energy and pressed his advantage, carefully. "You're not a coward, Zara. You wouldn't have come here tonight if you were. You _want_ to know. I want to help you learn. Will you let me show you something?"

Part of her still wanted to argue, just so that he understood who he was dealing with. But she was tired, and damn him, he was right. Slowly, she nodded. She sank back down on the couch, and he sat across from her, just like the first night they talked.

He took a deep breath. "I realize this might sound a bit fantastical, but your gift, Zara, is like...stars." Zara laughed before she could help herself, and Charles smiled in return. "I know how it sounds. Just bear with me." Zara nodded and he continued. "Your shields are like the sun-they've blotted out your gift, so you haven't been aware of it. The stars burn all day, but because we don't see them, we forget they're there. If you were someone who had never been out at night, you would never know what stars were. People could describe them to you, but you wouldn't really understand. That's what's happening now. I'm describing your gift, telling you it's there for sure, but you have no frame of reference. So, that's the first thing we have to do, give you something to compare against."

"How can you do that?" Zara asked, a bit apprehensively.

"If you agree, the first thing I'll do is cut you off from your gift, completely. Temporarily," he hastily assured her.

Zara wasn't sure why she felt scared of losing something she didn't fully believe she possessed. It was strange. Everything was strange, and she didn't want to trust Charles, didn't like to think of herself as trusting him-it seemed too blind, too vulnerable. Yet, he had not lied to her, not once. He deserved it. And she wanted to _know_.

She nodded. "Okay, then."

Charles smiled again. "Well, don't scrunch your face up like that, love; it's not going to hurt," he teased gently, lifting his fingers to his temple, and...

It was like she was at the bottom of a pool, no, bottom of the ocean, her ears filled, the pressure of the water making everything silent. Not silent. She could hear voices downstairs, the rustle of leaves outside. But—her mind searched, looking for something else, something to hold on to, something that _should_ be there, but wasn't. She reached out more frantically, her mind slowed by the weight, and now it was worse and it was getting scary, and she looked at Charles-

Suddenly, everything around her was back to normal, but Zara's mind was racing, trying to make sense of a new world.

Charles had a new light in his eyes as he looked at her. "Zara...?"

"Wh-what...just happened?"

"I briefly created a shield that encompassed your mind—your _entire_ mind. When I closed it, you couldn't receive the mental signals that you've been used to hearing. That's why it felt so quiet."

"But _what_ is it? It wasn't like hearing. It was—more like—"

"Knowing?" Charles finished her sentence gently.

"I'm not...sure."

"That's completely all right. How would you feel about trying a slightly different exercise?"

Zara took a breath and looked at Charles. His expression was kind, but-confident. He knew what was going to happen, and how she would react. It made her feel a little defensive. Something that was turning her inside out shouldn't be so matter-of-fact to anyone else. But then again, it was his confidence making her feel safe enough to try this. She nodded again.

"Good. We'll work together this weekend."

She was taken aback. "Not now?"

"Not now. You've had enough for one day, and we both have to teach tomorrow."

"I'm-sorry, you're right of course." She stood hurriedly and Charles stood at the same time. They almost collided.

"Sorry!" Reflexively, she put her hands up and they rested on Charles' arms for a moment.

He felt warm.

"I just—oh—" Her breath hitched and she pulled her hands away. Heat rushed back into her face. "Can I...ask one more question?"

"You know you can." He wanted to say more, reassure her, but something kept him quiet.

Her eyes looked up as she searched for the right words. Then she had it. "Is it...any _use_ being an empath? Only being able to pick up on feelings?"

A huge grin spread across Charles' face. "Oh, Zara, I cannot wait to show you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: THANK YOU, everyone who has read, reviewed, followed or favorited. This is my first fan fiction ever, and to hear that others are enjoying it means the world to me. I wanted to let you know that updates will be a little slower from here on out, since I'm coming to the end of the work I had written before posting the first chapter. I will be working and updating as fast as possible (or as fast as I can put out writing that I think is worthy of all of you). Reviews are cherished, questions welcome, constructive criticism appreciated.**

The rest of the week passed by in a blur. One of the advantages of teaching Shakespeare and theatre was that you could always adjust the lesson plans, and so Zara abandoned activities that would require serious concentration (for her) and instead had the children improvise scenes in modern language, had them find TV characters they felt were similar, and had them try a few playwriting exercises. It was good training regardless.

While she had always known the children were mutants, and been aware of how difficult it was for children having to deal with that on top of adolescence itself, now she felt for them on a level she had not known existed. She wanted to hug Ororo, play catch with Scott, sit with Jean and ask each of them: W_hen did you know? What did it feel like? What did you do after finding out?_

_Are you scared?_

In a way, it was like being diagnosed all over again. Something felt strange, not quite right, but certainly not _awful_, and then someone told you that your body doesn't belong to _you _anymore, at least not in the way you thought it did. Surprise. You didn't mind changing your entire outlook on life, did you?

She alternately anticipated and dreaded the weekend. Over and over she went back to that feeling of silence, of _aloneness_ that had surrounded her the other night.

It was soothing to know that nothing could get in. It was frightening to think she might not be able to get out.

_Knowledge always changes us. We have to make sure the changes are for the better._

* * *

"Why didn't it happen when I was a teenager?" Charles and Zara were sitting in the gardens outside the main house. It was Saturday, and most of the students were on a trip to New York City.

"I think it _did_ happen when you were a teenager. I think your empathic abilities and the arthritis manifested around the same time. You worked to block the signals of pain so that you could live as normal a life as possible. It's a very normal reaction. When you blocked the pain out, other things got shut out as well."

"How is it that you can get around the shields and I can't?"

"Imagine how many ways you might build a fence. You could use screening, so that only air would be able to pass through. Barbed wire might leave a space someone could crawl through, but they'd probably get hurt doing it. A board fence might keep animals in, but humans could jump over it without a thought. You built what worked to keep _you_ in."

"So...are you going to just take them apart?"

"No," he smiled. "_You_ will. Not today, not for a while. But you will be the one to take them down, and that will happen when you don't need them anymore."

Zara laughed shortly. "I can't imagine that."

"You don't need to. Just concentrate on what we're going to do next. We're going to take a look at these shields of yours." Charles raised his fingers about halfway to his temple. "Zara, for this, I'm going to enter your mind, telepathically. Do I have your permission?"

_I want to know. _"Yes. Just skip over anything labeled 'high school', all right?"

He laughed. "Promise." His fingers touched his temple and he gently merged with Zara's thoughts. There was apprehension there, and hope, glowing weakly through the pain. He sifted through it and came to the shields that she was hiding behind.

**_Zara. I won't let anything hurt you. We're just going to take a look, agreed?_**

**_Yes—_**

**_Brave girl._**

Charles looked at the shield in front of him, feeling for the tiny gap he had opened weeks ago. He touched a spot in Zara's mind and feelings of _safe, protected, not alone_ flowed into her. He waited a moment, felt her relax, and then pulled with his mind, opening the gap wider, enough for him to move through.

Zara's breath caught, her body twitching involuntarily.

_**I'm here; it's all right.**_

_**Charles—what—are you doing to me?**_

He pulled her up, away from her hiding place, and guided her to the gap in her shields.

**_You're being so strong—look here, see what I see—_**

Images exploded behind her eyes.

When Zara had been a little girl, she had gone camping overnight with some friends and their parents near Glacier National Park in Montana. Late that night, one of the adults had guided them to a vantage point above the treeline where they could see the whole sky around them, an incredible dome glittering with more stars than she had ever thought possible. The sky had actual depth-the longer she looked, the farther she could see. Daddy had to pick her up and carry her back to the camp because she wouldn't take her eyes off of the sky long enough to follow the path. The next morning, they had all climbed back to the same place to admire the view during breakfast. Zara had raced with her friends up to the top-and then frozen at the realization that the spot was a tiny clearing surrounded by open space. The edge was right there and she never knew. In the dark, looking up, she had felt cozy and secure. In the morning light, she was amazed to realize how much more of the world had been right in front of her, all that time, and she had never realized it. All that open space-beautiful and frightening at the same time.

She was seeing the stars above _and_ the space below. Although a tiny part of her knew she wasn't-_couldn't-_-be physically there, she felt the space open wide around her, the air, the emptiness-why was it so empty? She was losing her balance, and she reached again for Charles-

And he was gone.

Zara screamed with every molecule in her body, too horrified to even try to form a word, call out for help.

-And she was back on the bench, with Charles right there in front of her. Her first instinct was to lash out and hit him, but he merely flicked his eyes at her arm and it fell in her lap like iron. Her other hand reached out, but it was already moving slowly, and he took her wrist and eased that hand down as well.

"Where did you go?" she spat out through clenched teeth.

His eyes were kind. Damn him; he was always kind. Did _nothing_ unsettle the man? "I was right there, Zara, I didn't leave you."

"You _did_. You were nowhere around."

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "How do you know?"

"I know!" she retorted. "You were there one second, and gone the next."

"Yes, I was gone, but I didn't leave you."

"Are you really arguing semantics with me?"

"Yes, because it matters. I moved behind one of your own shields, Zara. You felt alone because you don't yet know how to follow my mental energy. Once you do, it will be easier. I know it was frightening, I'm sorry. You have to learn these things by experience. It will get easier."

"So, simple as that," she said tiredly. They'd been working for perhaps fifteen minutes, and she was already exhausted. She looked at Charles and, for once, said exactly what she thought. "Why don't you just go back there and close up the gap you created? I was doing fine before this," she sighed. "I don't think I can take it. I don't want to feel other people's emotions. You don't want to be dragging me through this. Just set me back to the way things were."

"Do you think you're the first person to ask me that?" he said gently. "I know you don't want this. No one does. But we all, human and mutant, hide from things in our lives, and they always come back to us, sooner or later." Zara sighed and looked away, pushing hair away from her eyes. He squeezed her hand. "I've said this to many others, Zara, and now it's your turn to hear it. You're afraid because right now, you're not in control; your powers control you. I can help you. I will teach you to control them. And, I promise you-" he tugged gently on her arm so she looked back at him-"I promise you: it will not always hurt. Please keep trying."

Zara took a breath in, but Charles was ahead of her. "Yes, we can stop for now. You've accomplished more than you realize." He stood and offered her a hand-surprisingly, she appreciated the pull to help her get on her feet. "But-we'll work again tomorrow, in the afternoon, all right?"

"All right," she agreed softly. The bench had been hard, and they had been sitting still for a while, so she was quite stiff as they began walking back towards the house.

"Zara, if you allowed me, I could help you with the pain. I can make it a bit easier at least."

"I know you would," Zara said as they picked their way around muddy spots on the path. "But..." and she stopped, turning her head slightly as though the light was too bright for her eyes.

"Zara?"

She turned to look at him with an expression he hadn't seen before. "No. Now that you don't play chess, you don't relax, not really. Better not to stretch any farther, not for simple pain."

It was as if she had smacked him in the face with a cricket bat.

"Wh-what?" Charles said, his voice barely a whisper.

"The board. It's empty now. Sad." She looked in his eyes, looked _through_ them. "You miss it so."

Charles had never, _never_, had someone read his thoughts-his _feelings_-this way. His battles with Emma had been just that-battles for supremacy, control. Raw emotion hadn't come into the mix at that time. Standing there, with the sun on his face and Zara in his eyes, he suddenly understood things in a way he never had before.

_"You promised me you would never read my mind."_

_"Then you know to stay out of my head."_

He had done this all wrong. He should have gotten one of the other teachers to project thoughts to Zara so she could learn, anything other than plunging ahead with the smug confidence that he was right, that he certainly wouldn't uncover anything he couldn't deal with. Should have, should have, should have. And now he was dangerously close to losing control as the image of the empty chessboard—_his own memory_—unleashed a razor's edge of pain that _hadn't_ eased, God damn it, _hadn't_ faded with time, but had been waiting to rise up and slice him to the fucking _bone_.

If Charles had realized the first thoughts Zara would hear would be his own, he might never have helped her gift come out. And what that said about him personally, he didn't wish to contemplate.

"You need to get out of here." It was Zara speaking. He nodded, his voice suddenly gone. She took one step back, out of his way, and he walked as fast as he could towards the house, shamelessly blurring the minds of anyone that he passed. He could not handle a question or even a direct look right now. In what seemed a mercifully short time, he was turning the knob on his own bedroom door and shutting himself inside. His own self-discipline made him hold on for one more moment as he reinforced his own mental shields, and then he turned inward and let the sadness take him, hard and ugly, jagged sobs tearing through his throat.

Zara was still standing outside, Charles' pain trying to force itself out of her mouth. She half-sat, half-collapsed right where she was and hid her face, words searing through her mind that she comprehended but didn't _understand_.

_Why did he have to leave? Why? It hurts so...Erik..._


	5. Chapter 5

"Miss Reilly?"

Zara looked up to find the sun setting and Hank McCoy standing over her with a concerned look on his face.

"Oh-Hank-" she started, then looked around and realized where she had been sitting and for how long. She started to get up, and to her mortification discovered that she couldn't. Without a word, Hank offered his large hand and gave her support as she slowly, slowly unfolded her legs and pushed to a standing position.

"Are you all right?" Hank asked in his quiet voice.

"Yes-just chilly." She smiled at him. "Thank you for your help."

"Sure." He stood there for a moment. "May I walk you back?"

"That would be nice," she answered honestly. They walked in silence for a bit, Hank shortening his steps to stay alongside her. Then he spoke again. "I saw you working with the Professor earlier."

"Yes..." she replied, then looked up at him and said for the first time, "I'm a mutant."

"He nodded thoughtfully. "I thought so."

"Really? I never did."

"It can be very difficult to make peace with it."

Zara stopped herself just in time from saying _"I guess you would know all about that."_ "How _do_ you make peace with it, Hank?"

"I'll let you know when I find out." Something resembling a smile crossed his face. "The Professor says we're not really that different from humans because we hurt the same way, worry about acceptance with the same intensity. That we are all trying to conquer the same things."

"That sounds like him."

They were getting close to the house now, and Hank stopped to look at her. "He's a good man. It-it's just my opinion, but I think you will be glad you let him help you."

"Are you glad he helped _you_?"

"Actually-I am. It's like chemistry."

Zara smiled. "Hank, I'm ashamed to tell you this, but I failed chemistry in high school." He smiled back.

"I just meant-in chemistry, nothing is ever lost, but everything-_everything_ changes. All the time. Some fast, some over hundreds of thousands of years, but nothing is immune from change." His eyes lit up and his voice became more animated as he moved into familiar ground. "Do you know, almost all of the cells that comprised your body as an infant have died? You are literally, almost entirely, a completely different person, and that's happened several times already through your life. The process of change is so continuous that you are not even the same person that got out of bed this morning." He paused for a moment, shyness returning to his face. "I-just mean that although it can feel terrible, change is happening all the time."

"Change brings loss."

"I know." There was a note of finality in his voice.

"Yes, you do," she whispered. "I'm so sorry you're hurting."

"You too, Miss Reilly."

Hank turned to head back towards his lab, but Zara touched his arm. "Hank?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you think I might be a mutant?"

He smiled again. "I was there when the Professor found you."

She dropped her hand back to her side. "_Found_ me?"

"With Cerebro."

"What?"

A note of pride crept into his voice. "It's how we find mutants. It amplifies the Professor's telepathic ability and we can target the location. We mostly use it to find students-but one day, we found you." Hank didn't appear to realize this was news for her, and went on. "We couldn't be sure at first. You're one of the only adults we've seen that had such a strong signal, but hadn't manifested a mutation. Obviously, we can't always help someone, and adults are even more difficult because they are more settled, but-when we found out what you taught for a living, the Professor wanted to recruit you. 'She can help us, and maybe we can help her," he said."

Zara hadn't thought it was possible to be shocked into silence so many times in one day. When she didn't say anything, Hank turned again towards his lab. She stopped him one more time.

"Hank. I'm sorry, just one more thing."

He looked at her patiently. "Yes?"

"Do you know who Erik is?"

His face became expressionless. "Yes. I knew Erik." And before she could ask anything else, he turned and strode away.

**xxx**

Charles lost track of how long he sat there. He had moved to a chair some time ago, when he could finally stop the heaving sobs long enough to push himself off of the floor. He broke down again in the chair. The weeping finally stopped, but the tears still flowed, silent, dripping on his shirt, leaving salt on his lips. Then, he just sat. Alone.

He had come back from Cuba, recovering from the bullet that had very nearly cost him the use of his legs. He focused on the positive, being there for Sean and Alex and Hank, focusing on moving forward and bringing new students to the school. He knew they were looking to him and he craved that responsibility, had craved it ever since Raven appeared in his kitchen as a little girl. He never wanted anyone to feel the way he did as a child-the only person alive in a sea of inanimate objects.

Charles didn't remember the first time he read _The Little Prince*_, but the image of the Lamplighter had always haunted him, faithfully lighting and extinguishing a lamp over and over on a tiny little planet. No one else lived on the planet, no one else was there to see. Year after year, the planet's rotations got faster and faster until the Lamplighter's entire existence was focused on the lamp, lighting it one minute and extinguishing it the very next. The Little Prince suggested he rest by walking around the planet, always staying in the daytime. But, the Lamplighter wanted to sleep, not rest. He was unlucky.

Charles understood. He had been faithful.

It had not mattered. Or, it had not mattered enough.

So he was unlucky, too.

Because it hadn't been the kind of faithfulness Erik needed. Or Raven. And, instead of giving him another chance, they left him, flat on his back in the sand.

_Be honest_, part of his mind whispered ruthlessly. _If they had come home, it would have been worse. He will kill people. You would stand for that?_

Erik had asked him the very same question. He knew.

So Charles had become another Lamplighter, devoting more and more of his time to the school, failing to notice that every day, the rotations got a little bit faster, he lost a little bit more of himself. The school had become his own sun, blotting out his own stars, until he also had forgotten that they burned. That didn't change the fact that he was proud of what he had helped to create. It was a worthy use of his time. It had helped him forget. No, it had helped him _think_ he _had_ forgotten. Until Zara brought it roaring back by doing exactly what he had told her to do.

Some of his energy must have bled over, probably, and she caught the image of chess. Just meant she was learning more quickly than he expected. That was good, really.

He went to the window and looked out into the fading light, towards a gravel path and a low wall with a satellite dish in the distance. He would have to talk to Zara, he knew. Apologize for leaving her like that. Mask a few crucial moments of today. But, not right now. Not now.

**xxx**

She lay on her bed, eyes open. Images were still appearing at random, emotion washing over her to match each one.

_A tall man, sculpted jaw, with eyes that changed from blue to green._

_A gun._

_Dark salt water._

_A helmet._

_The chessboard. _That one kept coming back. Always empty.

_Broken glass._

_Arms wrapped tight._

_My friend..._

The bitter pain seemed to be easing now. Every once in a while her breath would hitch in a half-sob, but not like before. Now she was...more empty. A barren spot inside her, she was hungry, but it was no use feeling that way, was it? Because there wasn't any food for this.

_Gone._

There must have been a time when she didn't know Erik Lehnsherr. Now it seemed like the memory of Erik had always been there. And Charles had cared so for him...had lov...

_Loved him._

And now Zara loved him, too.

_***Author's Note: The Little Prince was written by Antoine de Saint-Exupery and published in 1943.**_


	6. Chapter 6

Zara got up and got out of the school the next morning. It was the understatement of the century to say she needed some space. Walking or biking wasn't an option-she would have to return that way as well and the pain would get too much. Fortunately, one of the kitchen staff had a car and was happy to drop her off, as long as Zara promised to visit a very specific stall at the Farmers' Market and bring back two pounds of strawberries.

Charles woke up with a headache worthy of his Oxford days, though at least he had made it to the bed before falling asleep last night. It took entirely too much effort for him to turn over on to his back. He had a few more moments of peace, followed by the ominous something-happened-I-need-to-remember-oh-_that_ feeling. The pain of Erik had retreated just a bit, which brought some relief. Zara-was not in the house. Not on the grounds. He found her walking around New Salem, read her just enough to know she was angry, sad, _and_ ready to over-shop if she thought it would help. He groaned and got up slowly, heading for the bathroom. _When in doubt, work like hell. _

Zara indulged herself completely by spending a ridiculous amount of time in the bookshop, seeing a romantic comedy film as an excuse to eat popcorn and M&Ms together, and topped it off with a visit to the drugstore to buy new eyeshadow colors (which always ended up being practically the same as the ones she already had, but oh well).

Then, over an hour slipped away from her when she sat down on a bench, because it was like Charles was _there_. The images were less frequent, the rush of the emotions much softer, but it didn't change the fact that she felt him _in her head_. She felt the hurt, saw a desk covered with constantly changing papers-work was more soothing. And he was searching for something...he wanted it, so she did too, until she realized he was searching for _her_. That caused contentment to rise in her chest, and for a moment it was the only feeling there. Let him search. Let him wonder.

If Charles felt like he was right there, then Erik was most definitely _not_ there, and _that_ felt like losing an arm she never knew she had. Erik's face kept appearing in front of her, different images, but all with the same look in his eyes-he had cared, very much, no one could look like that if they didn't care-could they? If she-_if Charles!-_could just know, it would be so much easier. What was scary was that if Erik were to appear in front of her right now, she might throw herself at him and be happy doing it. How could she not? He cared, she knew he did, and it must have hurt him, leaving her there-

_Not you! Charles!_

Where the hell was all of this coming from? Probably some kind of test-that would be something Charles would do. He was probably waiting for her to come up to him, unsure and frightened, asking him to please, _please_ help her, and then he would look at her with that maddening kindness and explain with satisfaction that it was all to help her learn, and it was all for her benefit. Sanctimonious _ass_. Zara hauled herself back to her feet and headed off to the cute pub across from the bookshop. She was going to have a _drink_ and she was going to _enjoy it_. _Come on, possible liver toxicity and contraindications to medicine. I dare you._

**xxx**

Three drinks later, Zara had splurged on a cab and was resting her head against the upholstery in the back. One of the benefits of working in a school like Xavier's was that she didn't have rent, so things like this were affordable and felt extra-luxurious as well. At least the alcohol had made the images a bit easier to take. The driver dropped her outside the gate, and she walked in and up the front steps. It took a little bit more concentration than normal, but not bad. Oops, maybe she should have gone around to the kitchen first-Zara figured that she wouldn't get away with avoiding Charles forever, but she didn't expect him to intercept her in the hallway, which he was...right now. _You knew he was looking for you, stupid._ She hadn't told him she was going, but she didn't need his permission anyway, thank you. How did he-oh _riiiiight_. He could know whatever he wanted about her. And apparently he did, because here he was. _Shit._

"Miss Reilly!" Charles said with a smile. "I was rather hoping I would find you."

"Hello..." she said slowly, shoving the eyeshadows into her bag. "Is there something I can do for you, Professor?"

"Would you be kind enough to meet me in my office? I want to get your opinion on the school reading list for next year. I've heard from the other teachers, you're the last one."

She had to hand it to him. She couldn't refuse that request, especially not when he made it publicly. "Certainly," she said politely, while shooting him a look that was anything but.

Charles didn't seem bothered in the slightest and simply said, "Thank you. If you don't mind going on ahead...I'll be there in just a few minutes. Wait-are those strawberries from Melinda's Organics? I'm sure Mrs. Cook asked you to bring those back, she loves them. I'll take them to her." He took the bag with a smooth motion and walked away.

Zara couldn't help but feel satisfied when she shoved his office door open with enough force to make it slam against the wall. Maybe the drinks helped that, maybe not. It was nice to not care, for once. She threw her purse down on the nearest chair, then went and stood directly in front of his desk. The reading list was right there in front of her-she scanned it and was not surprised. If he wanted a formal meeting, she would give him one. Of course, after a day of walking, her joints were already complaining, but she grimly ignored it and kept standing.

A gentle rattle preceded Charles' entrance in to the room. Turning, Zara saw that he was carrying a large tray with steaming plates on it.

"What's this?"

"Standard dining room fare, unfortunately."

"Thank you, but this isn't necessary."

"Of course it is. I wouldn't ask you to work on an empty stomach."

"I can survive it for one minute."

He raised his eyebrows. "One minute?"

"Yes. You wanted my recommendation, I can give it to you in one minute. Probably less, if you let me get on with it."

"By all means," he said, setting the tray down on a table.

"Your list is the standard one most schools use. It has _Julius Caesar_ and _Romeo and Juliet_ on it. Don't do either."

"And what should we do instead?"

"_Much Ado About Nothing_. It's funny, for one. It's got people starting rumors and gossiping all over the place, which kids can identify with much better than stabbing Caesar because of politics. The language is good and it's got much more dialogue instead of giant speeches every other scene. Everyone thinks Romeo and Juliet is a great play for teenagers because it's about teenagers in love, but teenagers don't love that way anymore. It's a great play, it's just not the best play to get kids to _like_ Shakespeare."

Charles leaned against his desk and smiled more charmingly than anyone had a right to. "All right then...you've convinced me. But, of course that's why I hired you."

Zara bit her cheek so she wouldn't snap back _"oh, really? Because that's not what Hank McCoy said." _Better to just get out of there. "Is that all?"

"Of course not. I'm sorry I left you so abruptly yesterday. I was thinking we could work a bit now, if you like."

"I'd rather not, Professor."

"Because you've been drinking? I admit I didn't expect it from you-"

"_Don't_ condescend to me, please. Every teacher here knows about your love for scotch."

"I would hope so, as I sometimes give it as a Christmas present. I'm not criticizing you. Actually, having a drink might make our work a bit easier."

"I don't want to work with you."

His voice became quieter. "Why is that?"

"Because I don't want it to happen again."

"Have what happen again? I was just startled, Zara. I should have been better prepared."

She stared at him, a horrified look coming over her face. "You don't know."

Ice began to form in his stomach. "Don't know what?"

"Oh, my God, you really don't know..." She backed away from him, then quickly rounded for the door.

"Zara-" he started, then automatically reached for her mind. _**Wait.**_

Her body obeyed, but now her voice was furious. "Stop _doing _that!"

At another time, he would be proud that she could already detect his mental presence, but things were rapidly getting out of control. "I'm sorry, but you have to tell me what's going on."

She was still facing the door. "No!"

_**Zara. Look at me.**_

She slowly turned her face to him, a wailing sound coming through her clenched teeth. _She's fighting me_, Charles realized. _How did she learn that? _He increased the pressure on her mind and moved to stand in front of the door, never breaking eye contact.

_**Tell me what you're afraid of.**_

"...you cried for hours yesterday...I did too..." Her voice was strained.

_**Tell me why that frightens you...**_ he sent, pressing harder still.

_**Be-because of Erik,** _her mind screamed back at him. _ **He hurt you so much! 'We're brothers', he said, and then he LEFT!**_

Pain mixed with outrage shot through him as he instinctively took a step forward, catching Zara's shoulder in one hand and touching her face with the other. His mind was already there a split second before she tried to pull away.

_**Don't pull away from me. Show me how you know** **this**-_and he plunged into her thoughts, his anger making him rougher than he intended. Images flew past his eyes, his _own memories_ in her mind, Christ-and he raced her back to the shields she built, the shields he had opened-and stared.

The gap he had created was no longer a gap-it was a river. Her mental energy was flowing out with all the pressure of water behind a dam, and somehow, the pressure had created a backflow, and he could see a thread of his own energy being pulled _in_. He had never seen anything like it before.

_How?_

Several minutes...hours? later, Charles sat down at his desk, his hands shaking. Across the room, Zara lay in a sleep he had induced to give her mind time to recover from his-invasion. That was what it had been. He had lost control. There was no excuse.

Yesterday, he had moved behind her own shield, leaving her alone and afraid. Anyone would have been. She had reached out in response, tried to mentally grab for him. They both thought she had missed completely. Now he knew that a tiny part of her mind had not.

They were connected.

Oh, not completely. The vast majority of his mind was still untouchable. She was an empath, her talent ran to images and feelings, not literal thoughts. But they were _his own_, and he hadn't even felt them going. Emma had staged direct attacks that he could defend, she wanted control of his mind and he could fight on that level. But Zara hadn't tried to attack him, she had tried to _keep him with her_.

She had succeeded.

He had no clue what to do now.


	7. Chapter 7

Zara blinked slowly, then frowned. She shut her eyes firmly, then opened them again. No change. Wherever she was, it was pitch dark. She opened her eyes wide, to find any light...there. Large squares that were a slightly paler shade of dark. Windows. She tilted her head, groaning, and was rewarded with a wave of dizziness.

Soft footsteps approaching her, someone moving close to her. "Zara?"

"Ouch."

"What hurts you?" Charles asked quickly.

"A lot," Zara replied flatly.

"Don't move just yet, all right?"

Her voice changed. "Oh, no..."

"What?"

"Did I fall asleep _in your office_?"

Charles paused. "Yes."

"Why the- _why_ would you let me do that?"

"Erm...you needed to."

"Please don't tell me I passed out from the drinks."

"No..."

"Oh, thank God."

"Was that a real possibility?"

"Probably."

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped. "Well, I won't be giving _you_ Scotch for Christmas, that's certain."

"Good, because I'd rather drink gasoline. Owww..." She had tried to sit up again. Charles knelt next to the sofa and gently pressed down on her shoulders. "Zara, please, just stay put for a minute, all right?"

"I'm just stiff from staying in the same position too long. It happens. What time is it, anyway?"

"It's a little after two."

"I hope you're joking. Are you trying to start rumors?"

"I'm not, but if anyone were to notice, I'd take care of it-"

"Really, Professor? My, my, my, what's gotten into _you_?"

"I didn't realize you could be so sarcastic."

"When I'm hurting, definitely. Sorry if you don't like it. Oh-" and she groaned again as she pushed herself up on one elbow. Charles took her shoulders and helped ease her up to a sitting position, still quizzing her. "Is it just your body that's hurting you? How does your head feel?"

She took a minute to think. "A bit dizzy. Nothing terrible."

He allowed himself a little sigh of relief. "That's good."

He could barely see her face in the dark as she turned to him. "Are you worried about something, Charles?"

"Zara...do you remember what we were talking about...before you fell asleep?" His hands were still on her shoulders.

"Ugh...not really."

He tightened his grip just the slightest bit. "Try to remember. Please. It's important."

"Okay, fine..." her gaze slid away from him as she thought. There were a few moments of quiet, and then her eyes snapped back to his. "Erik," she said flatly.

"Yes."

"I know him now. I've never met him, but I know him."

"That's what I realized," he said.

"I know him," Zara began, "But...I can _feel_ you. In my head. I can tell some of what you're feeling, wanting. Ever since yesterday. I feel things, and I know they're true, but I don't know why. And..." she trailed off.

"What?" Charles asked. Zara didn't answer. "What, Zara?"

"I can feel where you..." she searched for the right word, "went looking. Inside my mind." She paused. "Without permission."

"Yes."

"I'd just like to point out that this is the second time that's happened.

"I know. I am so sorry, Zara. I haven't lost control like that...in a very long time."

"You're afraid."

"That's true, I was. I am."

"I'm all right, Charles."

His voice was soft. "I'm very grateful."

"Why are you so scared?"

"The...last time that happened, I hurt someone very badly."

"It's all right." His face in the dim light looked so forlorn and without thinking, Zara put her arms around him. "I'm all right, I promise," she whispered in his ear, and he sighed again and returned the embrace, holding her close. His hands slid gently down her back. He needed to touch her, be reassured that she was warm and alive and _herself_. "I was so afraid I had hurt you," he confessed. "It's all right if you're angry with me."

Amusement infused her voice. "Is it, now? So glad I have your approval for that."

"I just meant that I understand."

"I know," she murmured against his shoulder. "Maybe I should be. Maybe I _will_ be. But not now."

Charles pulled back from the embrace only so he could ease himself up on to the sofa. He had to actually think about how much distance he should put between the two of them. More than he would like. Zara turned her face to him.

"It's not like before," she said.

He tensed, afraid to meet her eyes even though it was dark. "What do you know about-before?"

"I..." He could feel her hesitate. "Just that there was one. And it was bad."

He swallowed, hard. "Yes."

The desire to put her arms back around him and tuck her head under his chin rushed from her heart out to her fingertips, until she panicked with the realization that if _she_ was feeling it, he would know sooner or later-if not already. _Sure, feel free to dig around in my head, and just to show you I'm okay, how about a make-out session as well? _

Change the subject. "What was it that made you so angry with _me, _Charles?"

_Regret, guilt_ rippled out gently from him. "It wasn't that-"

"Of course it was. When I said his name, it was like I had stolen something from you."

"You didn't steal it. You just reminded me that it was gone. I never get used to the fact that he's really gone."

"I can feel that in you," she said, her eyes beginning to mist. "I can feel it, I don't know if I should, but it's there. Why is it _there_? What makes it different now?"

"Zara, I'm not sure, but I think I did far more than I realized when I cut that opening in your shield." He leaned back against the sofa, looking at the ceiling. "I only meant for it to give you a small comparison, some awareness of what was out there, without the trauma of actually removing the shield itself."

Charles took a breath. "Yesterday, when I moved behind your shield...I shouldn't have done that. You weren't ready for that. So, you reached for me, much more strongly than I thought you'd be able to, and...a new connection was forged. A new pathway. It's something that happens within everyone's mind as we learn new things, have new experiences. But this connection was from inside your mind...outside, to mine."

Words sifted through her mind, but every time she tried to form a sentence, they slid beyond her like grains of sand through her fingers. Then it came to her.

"'_So quick bright things come to confusion,_'" she whispered.

He smiled faintly, turning to look at her through the darkness. Zara looked back at him, steeling herself. "Are you going to break the connection?"

He had to be honest. "I don't know."

That was the phrase that made her tears start to fall. She gritted her teeth. "Did you plan to ask how I felt about this, or did you pull that out of my mind as well?"

"Don't do that. Tell me what you're thinking, please."

She didn't know where the words were coming from, but they flowed out of her. "I think you should put your money where your mouth is. You opened up that shield, you said you could teach me, make the pain better. I want you to do that, to help me learn." She tried to wipe tears away. "So, let me do that. Let me learn _from_ you."

Charles looked like he might say something, but she charged ahead. "I know you can break it, make me forget it, without even trying. I'm asking you not to. I'm asking _you_ to trust _me_."

This was the hardest part to say. "Because...you need this, too. So much pain. So many things you can't say, because it would hurt someone, or it would hurt who they _think_ you are. Who they _have_ to think you are. You're trapped, just like me...and you made your prison, just like me." Her voice started to waver. "And-it's worse now, because you didn't want anyone to ever know how much you hurt...you don't want me to feel it now..."

He choked on a sob, leaning forward and touching his forehead to hers.

"But there's also..."

"What?"

"...love."

Silence crept over the room. A single tear slid down his face and fused with one of Zara's, becoming something different. Something new.

**A/N: "_So quick bright things come to confusion_;" Shakespeare, _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, Act 1, Scene 1.**


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Special thanks to the amazing KathyForest52 and darkin520 for their reviews and encouragement!**_

It was probably a good thing that students never believed their teachers were real people, Zara thought as the class got seated for the day. Because they might all die of shock if they were to find out that Zara wasn't feeling well because she: 1) went drinking yesterday; 2) stayed up half the night in the Professor's office WITH the Professor talking about things that ended up with her and the Professor-_the Professor!-_both in tears; and not to forget 3) she was starting to have some distracting feelings for Charles, as well as 3a) a man she had never met named Erik, who was staggeringly gorgeous but was probably also 3b) Somehow Not A Nice Person.

All right, so the drinking had been more incidental, rather than a calculated act of rebellion. She was still paying for it.

She had no clear image of how Erik had hurt Charles (and Hank, and others), except that Erik had left Charles on a bright sunny day when there were stars falling. _Sure, figure that out._

"Okay, everybody settle down, please," she said while walking up to the front of the classroom. "Who would like to go first with the homework assignment?"

"Me!" Ororo said, waving her hand in the air.

"All right," Zara said, smiling at her enthusiasm. "What did you find out, Ororo?"

"Shakespeare invented the word eyeballs."

"He did!" Zara praised. "Who's got another one?"

"I do," said John, a smirk on his face. "Shakespeare invented puke."

Several students giggled, but Zara just smiled. "Actually, John, I think you meant to say that he invented the word 'puking'. I don't think anybody invented puke, they just saw someone produce it one day."

Now the others were shouting out. "Skim milk!"

"Epileptic!"

"Chew on this!"

"Catch a cold!"

"That's fantastic, all of you," Zara said. "Now, today we're going to work a little bit on writing, just like Shakespeare did. Whatever word you chose, that's going to be the main idea of your story. I want each of you to write a short story where you are the main character, and you have to deal with whatever word you chose. Then, you will have to read it out loud, so keep that in mind."

"I chose "chew on this," Kitty said, looking annoyed.

"So, then, your story is about chewing on something." Zara quickly tried to steer it in another direction before somebody took the opportunity to get rude. "It doesn't have to literally mean chewing something," she encouraged. "When Shakespeare wrote it, he meant "think about this seriously"."

"Okay...". Kitty said, not looking convinced. Zara moved on to John, who was giving her a look that directly implied that she had somehow tricked him into choosing his word. "What'm I supposed to write about, then?"

"You chose the word," Zara responded lightly. "I assume you found it interesting."

He frowned. "Did he mean something other than what it sounds like?"

"No, he meant exactly what it sounds like."

"Great."

She moved up to her desk quickly, hiding her smile, before John's stormy attitude began to catch her and accentuate her headache. Sitting down was a little less painful than she expected, which was a nice surprise. She pulled some papers over and started to try and go through them, still keeping a surreptitious eye on the class.

She hoped like crazy that Charles didn't think she was saying that she was in love with him last night. She wasn't saying that. The fact that her feelings seemed to be steadily moving in that direction was something that she would work very hard to keep hidden. Zara didn't have any specific images to support her opinion, but she couldn't help thinking that if Charles knew how she was feeling, he would be-pleased. Pleased in the way that you would be if a cute puppy came over to you in the park. Of course you would play with the puppy, after all, puppies were so cute, why would you ever pass up the chance to have a little fun? But, eventually you'd look for the owner and return it, because although the puppy was cute you didn't necessarily want to have it around every minute.

She had to remember that he was used to this. He connected with people's minds all of the time. She wasn't used to this, so naturally it felt more intense to her, more-real. He would probably tell her it was completely normal for her to assume his emotions (the ones that weren't tied to Erik) were about her. Normal or not, she had to keep that from happening. She had to keep _some_ measure of her pride intact.

Glancing at the clock, she realized that fifteen minutes had passed. She firmly cut off her thoughts and called out: "Who would like to read first?" It was a very pleasant surprise to see John fidget in his seat, then finally raise his hand. Zara gestured to him. "Please, John, go ahead."

John stood up at his desk, staring down at the paper for a solid minute before he was able to take a breath and start speaking.

"The first time I puked up fire, it was Christmas dinner. My grandmother had a couple of her friends over to eat with us. She had the china and candlesticks out. I don't exactly remember what the man said. Something about how my dad didn't have the guts to stick it out. I thought I would throw my food at him...but instead, the candle flame just...jumped over the table and caught his shirt on fire." John swallowed, looked up at the class for a moment, then started to read again, in a monotone that contradicted the pain Zara could feel twisting his insides.

"I guess he was ok. I never knew for sure. I left right after that, when I heard the sirens coming. But I never forgot that feeling. It was exactly like puking-something takes control, and horrible things come out of you. In front of everyone, even people that you'd rather die than see you like that. It's better now...but sometimes I still feel sick."

He looked in Zara's general direction, but didn't meet her eyes. "That ok, Miss Reilly?"

With an effort, she kept her voice smooth. "Yes, John. That's excellent work, and exactly what I was looking for." For the first time, she tried to send out _pride_ and _comfort_ to him. She hoped he received even a tiny bit of it. John sat down, his eyes on his desk, his thumb rubbing absently over the lighter in his pocket-the lighter that Charles allowed him to carry everywhere, because, well...he needed it. He was holding closest one of the things that hurt him the most. Zara knew how that felt.

**xxx**

As her last class of the day trooped out, chattering and laughing, Zara looked up to see Charles standing outside in the hallway, looking back at her intently. She hadn't felt him coming-hadn't realized until that second that she _could_ have felt him coming. Sparks of pleasure at the sight of him fizzed through her veins as she walked to the door and held it open.

"Would you like to come in, Professor?"

He simply nodded and walked in, Zara shutting the door behind him. Charles moved over to the window and looked out, hands in his pockets as he spoke. "How are you today?"

"A headache. And my brain feels like it did too many pushups."

"That's a pretty apt description, actually." He sounded like he was smiling. After last night, I didn't want to presume anything, Zara. But if you're still comfortable working with me, I would like that to continue."

"What if I'm not comfortable continuing to work with you?"

"Then I would hope to change your mind."

"Why, Charles?"

He turned around and looked at her with surprise. "Why?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I want to help you."

Zara desperately wanted to just take him at his word, anything so that she could spend more time with him, feel his eyes on her, see him smile at her. Know he was thinking about her. As much as she wanted that, she knew it would not be enough. She repeated her question. "Why?"

"Because things are moving faster than I expected."

"So?"

"I don't want to let you down." She blinked in surprise, and he slowly walked away from the window, coming towards her. "Zara, I started this. I thought I knew exactly what I was doing. We've both realized by now that isn't the case, and we've both had a lot of pain because of it. I started it, but now we're in it together. You put your trust in me that first night...and last night, I realized that I've put my trust in you, too." He took a breath and looked her directly in the eyes. "You've earned it. But, more importantly-I _want_ to."

"I know things about you now."

He smiled. "You mentioned that."

"I don't think you should learn that much more about me."

"Why not?"

"Because..." _Oh, to hell with it_. She hid her face in her hands. "Are you determined to embarrass me? Can't you already tell what's happening?"

"Yes, Zara. The question is, can you?"

She looked up. Butterflies made of frost exploded in her stomach. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you should consider the possibility that you might be afraid of the wrong things."

"Stop playing around with me, Charles! Can't you answer a question directly _for once_?"

"No, I won't answer that question directly, because you wouldn't believe me. If you want the answer, you're going to have to..." He touched his temple. "Come and find out."

She stared at him, then closed her eyes and tried to feel the connection, follow it back to him. Her head was hurting, and the images were faint and...vague.

_The chessboard. _This time, pieces appeared._ A game in progress._

_Light spilling from behind a door._

_Stars again. Some burning, some falling._

_Charles, so close, his forehead touching hers. _

_The door again, a shadow approaching, blocking the light-_and the pain ratcheted up sharply, her hands flew to her head and she cried out. Instantly, Charles was there, his fingers at his own temple, and she felt the pain dissipate slightly, his mental presence soothing over her raw nerves.

"I can't see it..." Zara said dully.

"You will, Zara. I promise, you will."

"And you're okay with that?"

"It would be the ultimate hypocrisy to _not_ be okay with that, since it's what I've been doing almost my entire life."

"Are you kidding me, Charles?" She brought her hands down and pushed his own hand away from his head. "Forget _hypocrisy_. You're doing this just so that you can stay firmly on your moral ground?"

"No. I'm doing this because I've come to care about you very much, and I don't want you to die."

"_What the-" _Zara hissed and bolted upright. Suddenly her back was to the wall, with Charles's hands on her shoulders. "Zara, stop, stop, stop, _stop_!"

She tried to speak through the gasps. "This better...be your idea...of a horrible joke."

His eyes, so damn _blue_, were completely clear and honest. "It's not. It's what I meant when I said things were progressing faster than I expected."

"Then you have some _fucking_ explaining to do!" She shouted at him.

"I know, I know." He took her hand. "Come on."


	9. Chapter 9

Charles walked down the hall quickly, his hand firmly holding Zara's. He didn't adjust the minds of those passing them, but instead just played a small trick that made the pair of them seem much less interesting. Students and staff alike walked past, their eyes sliding over them as though they were simply part of the furniture.

Zara's mind was frantically going over the fact that she had just said _fuck_ in front of Charles, no, _The Professor_ and also her employer. Though maybe not for much longer. Zara's grandmother obligingly popped in as well, saying something about how pretty girls shouldn't have ugly mouths, and Zara let out a sound that was halfway between a giggle and a hiccup. Charles gave her an appraising look over his shoulder, but didn't let go of her hand or stop moving for a second. He touched an innocuous-looking panel on the wall, and it opened to reveal a well-lit staircase behind it. He pulled her through and the panel shut behind them.

"Ooooo, just like the movies," Zara said, her voice switching to an ominous calm. "Taking me to the morgue? You didn't say exactly how much time I had left, you know..."

Charles put one arm around her as they went down the stairs, mostly to make sure she kept pace with him. "Zara, I am in awe of your strength of mind, but don't get hysterical now or I will make you drink scotch."

"Tell me where we're going."

"We're going to see Hank."

"Why?"

"Zara, I promise I'll explain everything soon."

And that did it. Something inside of her finally snapped. She tore her hand out of his, losing her balance and slipping down the last step on to the landing. Charles reached out to grab her, or steady her, and she shoved him away with all of her strength. "_NO_! I am not taking any more of your-" She searched for the right word and nothing came, so she could only shriek in rage. "I swear if you do not tell me everything that is going on, straight out, _this instant_, so help me Charles, I will do my _best_ to beat you to death _right here!"_

His arms went around her and he held her tightly, whispering her name. "Zara, Zara, you're right, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, just go a little further with me, all right? Please? Just a little further, I'm so sorry for this, Zara..." And he pressed his lips to her forehead.

The rage shot even higher and she twisted in his arms, trying again to push him away. "Don't you dare kiss me like that, Charles! You do _not_ get to kiss me on the _forehead_ like you're soothing a child with a nightmare! On top of everything else-" Her voice broke and the rest came out in a despairing sigh. "-you do _not_ get to do that to me, too."

Charles dropped his hands to his sides, then took two steps back from her. They faced off, both panting from the struggle. Charles slowly sat down on the steps, turning his palms up as if he was surrendering.

"Shall we stay here, then?"

"Yes." She leaned back against the wall, ignoring the warmth where his hands had been. "Start talking."

"Zara, the pain you've been experiencing since you were young is a mutation of its own, but it has been directly affected by your empathic abilities and the shields you built to contain them. And now, it's been affected by my opening the shield. What I saw last night was that your energy is pouring out from behind that shield, and it needs somewhere to go. You have a bit coming out to me-that's our connection. The rest is turning back on you. Energy," he said, looking up at her, "has to _be_ somewhere. I put yours in motion. Now that it's moving, it wants to keep moving. But most of your shields are still there, so it's creating...kind of a backflow. A whirlpool."

"I don't feel any different."

"Well, I just grabbed your shoulders, held your hand and pulled you along, then had my arms around you pretty tightly. Are you hurting?"

She gave an experimental shrug of her shoulders, a flex of her hand. "Not much."

"Have you been sore?"

She remembered sitting easily at her desk during class that day. "Not very."

"The energy is moving, it's not staying static and attacking your joints. That makes the pain easier."

"Then that's a good thing."

"If it was moving freely, yes, that would be better. But most of your shields are still in place. Your energy is getting pushed out like water behind a dam. Pressure like that breaks down rock, it will break down anything. The problem will come when the rest of your shields burst under the strain. Some of the energy will come to me, because we're connected. A lot will snap back at you, like a rubber band. The rest...will go elsewhere. I can't predict where."

"But that can't be anything that would hurt you..." she trailed off. Charles looked back at her, silent. "We're talking about _empathy_, here. How can that hurt someone? How can it hurt me?"

"You think empathy isn't powerful? It's one of the most powerful things on _earth_, Zara. It can change behavior, it can change anything. It's mental energy that can cause physical reactions. If I watched you bite into a lemon right now, _my_ mouth would water. A physical reaction created from a thought, without touch, without anything else. That's just the most basic explanation."

"But..." she shook her head. "You can make people do things, forget things. You can know exactly what they're thinking and why. There's no way any...power I have could match what you can do."

"It doesn't matter at all if you can match what I can do. That's like trying to match two people's fingerprints. It's meaningless. What you can do is different, and it's incredibly valuable. If I can read the literal words on the page of someone's mind, you see the pictures. The subtext."

"It can't be enough to hurt you! Or me, or anyone!"

"Zara, with the proper means, I could give just one gallon of water enough pressure so that the force would kill you. You have much, much more than one gallon of energy building up behind those shields."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Relieve the pressure. We have to remove your shields."

She was still for a long time. "Remove?"

"Zara, yes."

"Completely?"

"Yes."

Her voice got quieter. "You said I would remove them, when I was ready, when I didn't need them anymore."

Charles sounded ashamed. "You're going to have to add that to the increasingly long list of things I've been incorrect about."

"You know what I don't quite understand, Charles? Why, if you found this out last night, you didn't tell me last night."

He looked at her, an expression that she had never before seen on his face. "Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I do..." she said, a lot less forcefully than she intended.

He stood, slowly, never taking his eyes from hers. Two steps, and he was standing inches from her again. Zara felt every molecule in her body straining to move forward, to touch him. He was so close, the intimacy of the eye contact became overwhelming, and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

_**No, Zara. Look at me.**_

Her eyes met his again, her vision blurred, and she let herself be drawn into a blue haze. She saw the Charles of last night in front of her, hair mussed and blushing. Charles, _blushing_. He held up his hand, and a tiny spark of light appeared between his fingers.

_**Hold out your hand.**_

She did, and he placed the spark in her palm. From there, it changed, elongating and becoming a thin, quivering thread of azure and gold, pulsing as though it was alive. It _was_ alive, she realized. The thread shot upwards, over her head, and then back to Charles' hand, seemingly of its own volition.

_**Ready?**_

He tugged on the thread gently, and it pulled her forward, into his arms, and-

She was being yanked backwards, the thread was gone, and the stairwell smashed back into her vision like a punch to the jaw. Charles was there, still close, but looking over his shoulder-

At Hank McCoy, who was standing at the stairwell door with an embarrassed look on his face. "I'm...sorry...Professor, I was just wondering where you were, because of the time, you know..."

Charles sighed. "Yes, thank you, Hank. You're right." He turned to her. "Zara, I'm sorry. You have to come with us, now."

Whether he had influenced her, or she had simply reached a point of overload, she didn't know. It was much easier to let him put his arm around her and guide her down the rest of the steps, past Hank, into another hallway. It must be below the main levels, she thought faintly, as it was much more utilitarian. No dark wood panels here, just concrete and fluorescent lights. Through another door, into what was obviously a lab, white and steel and colored strands of wires. It seemed like it should be cold, but it wasn't. Then Hank was in front of her again, his expression even more embarrassed, if that was possible. He held up a bundle of cloth in front of her. "Miss Reilly..." he said quietly, not looking at her, "I need you to change into this."

It was a _hospital gown_, she realized absently. Her hand reached out and she took it, and Charles had her arm and pulled her gently towards another door, a dressing room-_how civilized_, she thought. The door clicked shut behind her and she reached up to the back of her neck to find the zipper of her dress.

Charles stood a respectful distance from the dressing room door, watching Hank's preparations, wishing he could go back over the past 24 hours and change a few-_a lot_ of things. They would have still ended up here, but she might not have been so afraid, so angry. He had only himself to blame for that. It had been so unexpected, so seductive, to hear her voice some of the pain he had never shared with anyone, to know that she understood. He had given in to that, let himself bask in it, for just a moment, just o_ne damned moment_ when he held that understanding around him like a blanket. He had shut out everything else because she had felt so good. He was sorry, desperately sorry, that it had caused the fear she felt now, but he could not be sorry that he had shared that moment with her. It had been so long since anyone had seen him, felt him, not as "the Professor", but just as a man.

The door clicked open and Zara stepped out, wearing the gown, her hair loose over her shoulders. He wanted to hold her tightly, whisper reassurances, protect her with his body _and_ his mind. _That's what you're doing_, he reminded himself. _You will make it up to her-if she'll let you._

He smiled and held out his hand once more. She placed her hand in his, limply, and he drew her to him, his other arm wrapping around her shoulders as he walked with her. "Zara, we're going to do this together. You will be aware, I will be with you." He turned her gently to face him. "I promise I won't let anything hurt you."

Something hard touched the back of her legs, and she sat down on a soft surface-some kind of bed, she realized. She looked a question at Charles and he knelt down, radiating _compassion_ and _safety_ and lightly rubbing his thumbs over her bare arms. "Your mind is going to be working hard, Zara. This way it doesn't have to expend any energy on keeping you standing. That's all." He guided her back, she felt the pillow cradle her head, and then his fingers touched her temple and she slid down into a warm and silver pool of thought.


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Many, many thanks to darkin520 for her help and support. :)**_

As Zara's eyes closed, Charles gently slid his hand out from under her shoulders. He looked up and Hank was already there, leaning down to attach electrodes to Zara's forehead. "These will allow me to read Zara's brainwaves while you're working. When the readings begin to spike, how do you want me to let you know?"

"I'll still be able to hear you." Charles stood and walked around Zara's prone form to the bed on her other side and sat down. "If you see something that worries you, tap the palm of my right hand."

"All right. I'm going to start IV's that will keep you hydrated, just in case." As he picked up equipment, Hank thought about how one of the things he appreciated most about science was that there was always something you could busy yourself with. It made it easier for him to ask difficult questions. He slid the tourniquet around Zara's upper arm and felt gently for a vein before asking his next question. "Charles," Hank began, eyes on his work, "How are we going to handle it if you need to break the connection?"

"I won't need to break the connection, Hank. I'm going to help her remove the shields and absorb the shock; that's it."

"Absorb the shock?" Hank asked as he secured the needle in Zara's arm and taped over it.

"Yes. As the pressure gets more intense, more and more of her brain will become involved in the task of removing the shields. I'm going to make sure that she doesn't get overwhelmed to the point of...excluding other tasks."

Hank stopped what he was doing to stare at Charles. "You mean, you're going to beat her heart and pump her lungs for her, because eventually her brain won't be able to?"

Charles tightened his lips. "I wouldn't put it quite so baldly, but yes, essentially that's the idea."

Hank kept staring, not pacified at all by that statement. "No, Charles, that is not the "idea". That is exactly what you'll be doing."

"All right, yes, Hank, that's what I'll be doing, but I promise there's nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to-" Hank's laugh of amazement couldn't hide the growl underneath. "Nothing to worry about? Charles, you might be off the charts in mental ability, but physically, you're the same as any other person."

"You wound me, Hank."

"Don't joke, Charles!" Hank got up in disgust and went back to the medical tray for more supplies. "Have you thought about the decision you're making? Have you given any thought at all to a strategy in case things don't go exactly as you think they will?"

"There's no reason why this won't go according to plan, Hank."

Hank made it back to the bedside in one step, grabbed Charles' right hand, and firmly pushed Charles' palm up against the small of his back so Charles could feel the scar against his own spine, the only physical sign of Erik that still remained.

"Do I need to remind you, Charles?"

Charles turned his hand around and gripped Hank's large paw in return. "No, my friend, you don't." He looked up at Hank, his eyes serious. "Hank, I have to do this. If I don't, the shields will eventually burst and Zara's mind will be overwhelmed in the same way, and she will die."

"Charles." Hank let go of his hand. "The more you are connected to her, the more danger there is." Hank looked away for a moment, trying to soften his voice. "Charles, I like her. I want to help her, too. But you know how risky this is. She could die no matter what you do. I'm just afraid-if you feel her slipping away, you won't be able to stop yourself from diving after her."

_Do you have it in you to allow that?_

"I can't just break the connection," Charles said, and then the smell of damp woods surrounded him again, the tips of his fingers numb, his legs protesting as he jumped up to charge after Erik.

_I can't leave him._

But Erik left him. After all he'd done, Erik had still killed Shaw-just as he said he would-and left. This was different. It had to be.

Charles lay back on his own bed, rolling up one sleeve so that Hank could start the IV.

_What an adorable lab rat you make, Charles._

"Hank. I promise you, I will pay attention. I won't-" He couldn't bring himself to say what Hank needed to hear, but he managed "I won't let things get out of control. Not for Zara, and not for me."

A low beeping began and Hank glanced over his shoulder. "The machine is responding to her. Mildly elevated activity, but nothing to be concerned about just yet. The problem will come-"

"When the energy is released." Charles replied, wincing slightly at the sting of the needle. "Sorry," Hank murmured. He carefully taped the needle into place, and then brought up a soft cloth strap and gently wrapped it around Charles' wrist. Charles raised his eyebrows. "Hank, what's this?"

"Just for safety's sake." Hank moved to Charles' other side and began to restrain that wrist as well. "As you know, in normal REM sleep, the mind paralyzes the body so that you can't hurt yourself by acting on things in your dreams. That's why so many people have the dream of trying to run from something, but feeling like they can't move at all. They actually can't move. But this isn't normal REM sleep, and so I'm concerned that the connections between your body and mind will be more...flexible. This is just to make sure that if there's any-" Hank swallowed as he searched for the right word. "-um...thrashing...then you won't accidentally hurt yourself. I'm going to do the same for Zara."

"All right." Charles gave Hank the same confident smile as when he entered Cerebro for the first time, asking no questions, just pulling the helmet on and waiting for whatever happened next. "We'll see you soon."

**xxx**

Okay, there was literally a wall in front of her. A patchwork wall. No uniformity in size, shape, or even materials, she realized. She saw everything from miniscule pebbles to velvet fabric to metal with rivets, and even a few books, here and there. The opening in the wall looked to be about the size of her hand, but it was too high up for her to see anything behind it.

"When I first opened it," Charles' voice said behind her, "It was the size of a snowflake."

She paused at his voice and then turned to see him just behind her, his smile as reassuring as always. "Hello, Zara."

She managed a halfhearted smile in return. "Hi...um...where exactly are we?"

"Inside your mind, behind your shields. Beautiful, aren't they?" he said, gesturing to the wall behind her.

She looked up at the wall again. To be honest, it looked like some kind of giant industrial version of her childhood closet. "I wasn't expecting this."

"What were you expecting?"

"Last time we were-well, here-all I saw was light. Stars."

"Last time, I was showing you what was beyond your shields, some of the things you had shut out. This time, we're looking at the shield itself."

Zara nodded once, and he continued. "This is going to be a process, Zara, and it will take a while. One of the things you're going to have to do here is stay in control. There will be a lot of emotion coming at you, and your instinct will be to give in to it, to feel that emotion. You have to resist that impulse. Do you know how you're going to do that?"

"I..." Zara stopped short. "Charles, I don't have any idea what I know anymore. I'm pretty sure I don't have any idea how to handle this."

"Think back to the first day started feeling others' emotions. Kitty's happiness, Scott's embarrassment. They came over you, and in a sense, you were just along for the ride, correct?"

"I suppose..." she said quietly.

And then, you realized you could feel my emotions, what I wanted. I felt something, so you did too, right?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Earlier today, I very much wanted you to come with me to the lab, quickly, without argument. You didn't feel the same way. In fact, you stopped in the stairwell, and so I had to stop too. How could you stop? Didn't you feel that I wanted you to come with me?"

"I wasn't even thinking about that."

Suddenly his voice got more intense. "Why not?"

"Because I was so angry-"

"Yes." He smiled, triumphant without being smug. "Your own emotion was dominant, Zara, buffering my feelings and keeping them from affecting you. That is the key. That is how you stay in control. You have to keep your own emotion in the forefront, keep it stronger than the ones that will be coming at you. That's how you keep focus."

"However..." He took a breath, his voice keeping that intensity. "All emotions have strength, but Zara, all emotions do not have the strength that will _help_ you. Anger is strong, but it's unpredictable, and it will turn on you. Every time we become angry, it works up to a point, and no farther. This is important, because anger will be a large part of this and we all-" Erik flashed in front of his eyes. "-have been fooled into thinking that anger is strength."

_I need the situation, the anger..._

_No, the anger's not enough._

Zara took a deep breath, looking up to the wall with determination mixed with fear. Charles squeezed her shoulder encouragingly. "I know you can do this. The bricks are memories, experiences, wishes, dreams-that's why they all look so different. You put every single one here to protect you, mostly from pain, and anger. But you need to understand that even though all of your bricks look different, there are common elements throughout. That's what you have to find."

Her eyes widened. "A common element? Common to every single brick?" Charles nodded and his hand reached up to gently brush some hair away from her face. Zara tried not to shake at the nearness of him, the warmth of his touch. "Zara, you have to realize that as justifiably angry as you are, you did not build this wall because of that anger. You built this wall because of love."

"What...?" She turned away briefly to regain her composure, and after a moment, looked back at him from over her shoulder.

"Yes. We don't protect things we hate, or things we're angry about. We protect things because we want to keep them safe. When we love things, we want to keep them safe."

"Charles-I'm sorry, but I refuse to believe that I love this wall. That's ludicrous."

"I'm not asking you to believe it, all right? I'm just asking you to remember it."

She turned back to him and gave a halfhearted gesture of acceptance. She could argue, but wasn't it just postponing the inevitable?

"What do I have to do...just take it apart?"

"Not exactly. Go ahead up there. Find the smallest piece of it that you can."

She approached the wall and identified a tiny dandelion bloom, one of many, stuck in between two large rocks. She touched it gently and looked back to Charles.

"All right. Now, pull it away from the wall, slowly." Zara did, and it came away easily, not even appearing to be crushed. She held the stem between two fingers, and again glanced back to Charles for the next step.

"Now, let it go." She raised her eyebrows, disbelief on her face, and he nodded. "Yes. Just drop it, right there."

Zara let it go, but instead of it falling down, it immediately flew back in place between the rocks as though it had never moved it all.

"So you see, that's the first part of what we're dealing with here," Charles said. That's your mental energy, pulling that flower back into its place. It's a very strong pull, and it's only going to get stronger. I'm going to help you withstand that. The second part is this. You can't take this wall apart one piece at a time. It will remake itself, like you just saw. You have to remove a lot of pieces at the same time, so that they have enough force to withstand the pull."

"Are you saying that the laws of physics have to be obeyed even inside my own mind?" she asked. Charles laughed, and Zara shrugged in return. "It just seems a little unfair."

"Let me put it this way. The laws of physics are what you're used to, even inside your own mind. Yes, there are other ways to do this, but they will not work as well, and will take longer because you'd have to learn the rules first, then practice them, before getting down to work. We don't have that much time."

"How much time do we have?"

"Enough."

"Oh, my God, Charles, you are infuriating sometimes."

He smiled at her again, but this time, there was a distinct undertone of authority. The Professor was back. "Go back to the wall, pull the flower out again." She did so, and he continued. "Now, just hold it. Feel it with your fingers." He paused for a moment. "What does it make you think of? First thought that comes to your mind."

"My grandmother's backyard," she murmured. "She would give us a penny for every one we picked and brought to her. We thought it was the best game ever."

"What do you feel right now?" He asked softly.

"Laughter. Energy. I could run all day back then."

"Zara, reach out, find the other bits of laughter in the wall." Charles touched his hand to his temple, and gave her a soft mental push-

-And it felt as though her veins and arteries were growing out, beyond her body, threading themselves through the wall and wrapping around other tiny pieces, and yellow-gold energy, the same color as the dandelion, thrummed through the wall and back to her. It was magnificent.

"Now, take all that laughter back. Pull it back through the threads, back into you. Slowly, there's no rush. It's part of you, Zara, it's coming back to you. Let it come."

She tugged gently on the golden threads, and they pulled back, bringing the tiny pieces of wall with them. It felt like ticklish bubbles as they poured into her, and her giggles grew into laughter as she reveled in the feeling of the bubbles popping and rejoining with her blood, her brain, her very essence.

When it had completed, Zara turned and looked at Charles, wonder on her face. "Charles...that was...incredible."

He smiled. "You did well, Zara, you did very well. Are you ready to try again?"

"Yes, of course."

"Go back to the wall; choose another piece."

Zara went back, unafraid.

**xxx**

Most people didn't realize how much of science was actually pure boredom mixed with tiny pockets of intense stress. Hank found a comfortable seat and set some journal articles alongside to help pass the time. He was engrossed in the second article when he began to hear soft sounds coming from the beds. He stood up, letting the pages flutter to the floor, and went quickly to check on Charles and Zara. Their color was good; the IV's of saline and electrolytes were ready. Hank would start them if another hour passed without their regaining consciousness. The occasional gasp or twitch of fingers might be caused by any normal dream cycle. Then, the beeping changed to a higher pitch, and Zara's brainwaves started to jump in a more erratic pattern.

It had begun.


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: This time, special thanks go to TheDeathFrisbee, Dominus Tenebrosus, and ReadingBlueWolf for their generous help and encouragment. You guys rock!**_

_Safety was opalescent, soft fluff pressed between and wrapped around some of the heaviest blocks._

_Anticipation felt like tiny steel-pointed wheels that ran up the inside of her ribs and made her neck itch._

_Joy was pink and orange, raining down around her and brushing her skin like rose petals born in a sunset._

_Love was blue and silver, the surface of a lake at dawn, its mirrored surface giving reflection and promising depth._

Then, she came to the sections that were protecting the things she had tried to forget. All of the warmth and energy she had pulled in began to leach out again in tiny pulses.

_Fear was black, chased in a sickly yellow-green, and it shadowed her eyes from behind as she pulled back thin, razor-edged discs that fit in every nook and cranny and were sticking to almost every other section of the wall._

The books turned out to be a combination of avoidance and denial. Some of the books came back whole, but others had to be pulled back page by page; a draining, tedious process. The pages showed her things she had protected herself from, or things that she might have had if she'd been willing to risk it. Zara wasn't sure which were more difficult to accept. _Those_ _emotions made her feel the drop and slide of freezing water down her spine, the chill spreading slowly, relentlessly._

She didn't remember exactly when she had sat down on the ground. It didn't matter.

_Contempt was thick and hot, with a piercing smell of paving tar that stung the inside of her nose._

_Grief and loss. Icy clear._

_Shame was dark purple and sticky, collecting under her nails and clogging her eyelashes. The bits that flew into her mouth tasted like bile._

Slowly, the anger built up. Anger at herself for constructing all of these ridiculously layered defenses; anger at Charles for making her take them apart because of something _he_ had done. Anger that she had to call back fear, shame, grief, and a thousand things more that she had wanted to be done with, to forget about, to leave behind.

She focused that anger into a point and flung it at one of the largest bricks she could see, and it exploded with a boom. Satisfaction spread through her body a moment before burning pain rushed over her skin and she convulsed, the ground reaching up and smacking her on the side of her head.

**xxx**

Shortly after Zara collapsed to the ground, Charles let himself drop as well, conserving the rest of energy for the dismantling still to come. Her anger was inevitable, Charles knew, but it still hurt him to see it. "Zara," He called to her, "The anger turns on you. Look at your hands."

She held them up and saw what looked like hundreds of tiny cuts beginning to ooze blood. She choked in fury, and several other bricks exploded in response. The sound rang painfully in his head as he watched her body contort again. More specks of blood started to blossom from her skin. Charles' own pulse roared in his ears as he half-crawled up to where Zara lay and fell alongside her, trying to suppress his own pain.

"Charles," she groaned. "Too tired. Let the rest stay, I don't care what happens."

He pulled her back against him so that he could murmur into her ear. "Zara, please, you have to keep going."

"No. Enough."

"You can do it."

"No. Done."

"They're part of you, you have to _let_ them be part of you."

"Don't want them. They hurt."

"I know they hurt, and I know you're very tired. It's not much longer now."

_Tap. Tap. Tap. _There was something he needed to remember. Something important.

Zara turned her head and looked at him through hazy eyes. Her lips were blue, and a quick glance at her hands showed that the nail beds were gray. _Lack of oxygen._He smiled at her as best he could, taking one of her hands between his and rubbing it to bring some warmth back, the drops of blood smearing as he did so. Charles closed his eyes and let his mental energy flow out into Zara, connecting with her mind and syncing her breathing and heartbeat with his own.

_Tap...Tap...Tap...Tap..._Tendrils of frustration were threading into his thoughts.

"Charles?" he heard Zara ask, and then white hot pain shot from behind his eye.

**xxx**

Hank had been desperately trying to get Charles' attention, and when the agreed-upon signal failed to work, he resorted to inducing pain by pressing the supraorbital nerve just below the eyebrow. Charles' head snapped up and he tried to strike out, his wrists pulling against the restraints.

"Charles? _Charles!_" Hank snarled, his hands pressing down on Charles' shoulders to keep him still.

Charles' eyes slivered open, unfocused and with pupils blown. "Hank...?" came the whisper.

"Yes. Charles, listen to me. It's been six hours. You have to finish this soon."

"Right..." he mumbled.

"No." Hank gave him a mild shake. "You have to finish it _soon_, Charles. Zara is doing all right, but you...you're sliding."

"Sliding."

"Yes, Charles. You're putting more energy into supporting Zara than you're keeping for yourself. It can't last."

"S'okay, Hank. Almost done." His eyes started to close, and Hank ruthlessly pressed on the nerve again, causing Charles to yell and thrash in response. "Charles..." Hank trailed off, his mind racing to come up with the right thing to say. "Charles," he started again. "Please, stop while you can. Your pulse is getting erratic, your blood pressure is dropping. I don't have life-support equipment here. If you slip farther...I don't know if I can pull you back."

Charles' eyes were distant, but a half-smile lit his face and Hank heard the words in his mind. _"Hank, you splendid chap. That's it,"_ before the blue eyes closed again. Hank swore in frustration and snatched up a syringe, his large paw handling the thin tube with care. He plunged the needle into Charles' IV and pushed the liquid in, slowly and steadily. Atropine. In small doses, a cerebral excitant. It might help.

**xxx**

"Charles? Are you all right? What's happening?" Zara gave him a shake and Charles' eyes focused on her again. "M'fine, Zara..." he said, attempting a smile.

"Charles, I don't know how to finish this. There are too many. I don't know what to do."

"Zara...told you..." Charles' voice was softer. "You built this wall...out of love."

"It's gone, Charles, that's gone! All of the good things are gone. There's only bad things left."

"You can find it, Zara...you've got to find it."

"I can't find love in all the things I hate about myself!"

"There's much, much more to you than hate."

"No, Charles! I won't do this, do you hear me? I won't take these things back, I _will not _do it. They're the worst things about me, they shouldn't have to be part of me, I hate all of them!" There was another explosion, Zara cried out in pain and blood started to drip from her nose.

His hands gripped her arms so tightly that her skin burned. "That's it, Zara, that's _exactly_ it. You think by hating them, you'll get rid of them. All you've done by hating them is to make them stronger. By hating them, you've created this-" and he turned her face so the wall filled her vision.

_She was holding closest the things that hurt her the most._

"Have you thought..." he whispered to her, "that if you're afraid of what's on the other side of this wall, it will never come down?"

"The _other_ side?"

"Yes. Your energy is in motion, trying to get out, beyond the wall. What's it trying to get to, Zara?"

She knew immediately. "My stars."

He turned her face to him gently, his eyes looking into hers with compassion. "Sometimes, Zara, we love things so much, we think we don't deserve to be a part of them."

In that moment, she finally understood.

Inside her anger, there was love. Betrayal, grief, shame, fear, everything. _Love_ was at the core of them all. She gasped with the knowledge and looked at the wall again.

The bricks were changing, blocks of pain and contempt wrapped in steel and obsidian flickering as silvery-blue threads lit up within each of them, running through all of them, tiny bits of love that had remained hidden until this moment. She inhaled and her breath hitched a few times before it became a laugh, joy pulsing through her, her strength finally returning.

"Charles, _look!_" She turned back once more and an icy hand clutched her stomach as she saw Charles, lying ghostly pale with his eyes closed. Zara dragged herself upright and reached out towards the wall, calling to the threads with a strength she never knew she had. Silver-blue crackled through the wall like lightning and shot towards her, _through_ her, and on a wild impulse she grabbed on to Charles so that the light shot through him as well.

The wall disappeared.

Zara had one split second to marvel at the sight before the light crashed in on her and Charles both, flowing into her as though feeling was returning to her limbs after a lifetime of numbness. She tried to wrap her arms around Charles, but it felt like she couldn't get close to him again, her hands were grasping at air-

**xxx**

"Zara, you're okay, do you understand? Just relax, nothing's wrong, you're all right."

"Charles?" she managed to gasp, Hank's blue form blurry in her sight.

"He'll be all right. Very tired, just like you. But you did it, Zara. You did it."

Zara tugged on the restraints holding her wrists. "Hank..." she said hoarsely.

Hank moved over and began gently unwinding the fabric. "Zara, take it easy, please."

"Yes...will. Just need...see."

She reached out as soon as her first wrist was free, and once the second was released she turned towards Charles, pulling herself towards him, sighing with relief as she felt his warmth. A bit further, and she could rest her head on his shoulder, taking comfort in the sound of his breathing.

"It's all right," he whispered, barely audible. "I'm here." He reached up and rested his hand on her head.

"I'm here, too," she whispered back, holding him tighter and smiling through tears. "Charles, it's wonderful."


	12. Chapter 12

The time afterwards was indistinct, drifting and peaceful. The world was reduced to sips of water, waves of sleep and the comforting presence of Charles, always close by, his mind lightly touching hers as they recovered.

Slowly, her universe expanded. Charles was always there, but then she could feel a bundle of nerves buried firmly under meticulous precision that she realized represented Hank, silently watching over them both. Soon after that, her awareness expanded again to the point where she could feel small bubbles of emotion gently brushing the edges of her mind, moving in and out as they followed their own paths to other places.

She felt so close to Charles that it was a shock when she finally opened her eyes and saw that the bed next to her was empty, and looked like it had been for some time.

"Charles?" she said into the empty room. His voice immediately replied in her head.

_"You're awake! That's wonderful."_

_"Where are you? I thought you were here."_

_"I'm close by...Hank has given me a short work-release to attend to some things in my office. I'll be back soon. I'm so glad that you're feeling better_."

Zara took a moment and realized that she _was_ feeling better. So much better, in fact...

_"I'll bring dinner back with me, does that sound good?"_

She grinned in relief. "Fantastic," she said to the empty room, and then laughed.

Zara passed the time by finding the bathroom and a set of soft exercise clothes that had obviously been set there for her. Turning on the shower, she discovered that her own soap and shampoo were waiting. It was a surprise, but then she realized that there was very little, if anything, that Charles _didn't_ know about her now. Shampoo and soap were the least of it, and once she got a look in the mirror, she was very, very grateful for their presence. Her entire body from the neck down seemed to be covered with green and yellow bruises from the anger she had unleashed at the wall. Grimacing at their appearance, she turned the water up to scalding and stepped in.

Afterwards, she was luxuriating in the clean clothes and toweling her hair dry when the feeling hit her. It was as though her heart had suddenly vanished from her chest and materialized in the next room.

_Charles._

She tore open the bathroom door, and there he was. He was covered in bruises too, but the look in his eyes pulled her the last few steps and then they were wrapped around each other. Charles' lips met hers gently at first, then more insistently as he tilted her chin up and coaxed her mouth open. Zara simply held on and let the bliss pour over them both.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that," Charles whispered to her after a while.

Zara smiled, pressing her cheek to his and running her hand up into his hair. "Charles, that's just it, I feel it, I _do_ know..." She looked up to him and they kissed again.

By the time they remembered dinner, it had long since grown cold.

**xxx**

The next morning, Charles found Zara's door ajar. He looked inside and found her already dressed, sitting at the window with her eyes closed in concentration.

"You know, people feel happiness differently?" She spoke distantly, as he came in, her attention still far away. "Of course it makes sense now, but I never thought...there are six very happy people down there, but each happiness is different, feels different. It's like each one is written in different handwriting, which I suppose is exactly what's going on." She opened her eyes and turned to Charles.

He sat down next to her. "Were you expecting me?"

"Well...in a sense. You were feeling...organized, but not like you were preparing for a class. More like you were checking off a list so that you could get to something else. Then I kept seeing my own door from the outside, and realized you were thinking about coming up here. So, I opened the door for you." She gave him a look that was half-pride and half-uncertain.

He couldn't help laughing. "Well, thank you for that, love," and he leaned over to brush his lips across hers. He felt the heat rise in her cheeks in response.

"I was thinking," he said, pulling back slightly so that he could see her eyes, "that it might be fun to venture into the town today, if you're feeling up to it."

"Really?" She took a second to think. "Lots of other people..."

"Exactly. You're ready, you can handle it. It's the weekend, most people out will be occupied with their own errands, or simply enjoying themselves. If there's anything more than that going on, I'll be there just in case."

Zara smiled. "That does sound like fun. Although...how many classes have I missed? I'm sure there's a lot of work I need to catch up on."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that right now. I have them doing an extra credit project for you."

Her brow furrowed. "Extra credit?"

"The Royal Shakespeare Company is touring through the Met and I sent them to a matinee."

Shock covered Zara's face. "You sent them to see Shakespeare at the Met _without me_?"

Charles laughed so hard he had to hold on to the edge of Zara's desk to keep from falling over. "Yes, and I'm not sorry," he said, enjoying the look on her face. "In fact, I didn't even _consider_ sending you along with them, and I'm not sorry for that, either. The last thing you need right now is to worry about controlling several teen-age mutants inside the Metropolitan Opera House."

"But...well. Which play are they doing?"

"_Cymbeline_."

"Oh, that's a good one," she said, and sighed.

He started laughing again, resting his forehead in his hand. "All right. I can see I've made a major error in judgement. Perhaps you'll allow me to redeem myself?"

"With what, exactly?" she asked, brightening.

"Today, a trip into New Salem. Another day...you'll just have to wait and see." He offered her his hand. "Shall we?"

**xxx**

Despite the fact that it was a beautiful day, Zara still tried to go straight into the bookstore as soon as they were parked in New Salem. Charles, in full Professor mode, insisted they walk around the town first, so that Zara could concentrate on identifying and filtering the emotions around her.

"Happiness. Peace," she said after they passed a man sitting on a bench. "He loves this time of year," Charles said in response.

"Love, and a bit of...fear?" she asked, looking at him. Charles smiled. "The mother over there." He gestured subtly. "She's terrified one of her kids will break an arm while she's not looking."

"Embarrassment, some anger," Zara said, nodding at a young man striding down the street. "His girlfriend just broke it off with him a few hours ago," Charles replied.

"Oh," Zara said, but Charles stopped her with: "It's all right, he was cheating on her anyway," and she laughed.

They spent a little while longer in the park, Charles helping her to visualize the minds and emotions around her. Zara's stamina had definitely improved, but Charles didn't want to put too much pressure on her too quickly. "Remember, the more you practice, the more control you'll have. It will take time."

Zara nodded slowly. "Right now, all these emotions feel like...fish. Like I'm in the middle of an aquarium, and all these thoughts are swimming around. If they come closer or not, it's their choice, not mine."

"You'll gain control to keep emotions far from you, or close to you, whatever you want," he explained. "Think of it as a ring surrounding your mind, with everyone else on the outside of the ring," he said. "The larger the ring expands, the farther away those other minds will be from you. When you choose to shrink the ring, those minds will be able to come closer and closer to your own. Later, you'll be able to pick and choose which minds you bring close or hold away. Then it becomes more like...like _that_," and Charles pointed towards a child playing with a hula hoop. "A tiny part of the hoop touches her waist, but the rest of it is held away from her at different distances. If you were talking with a student about something difficult, you might pull that one student's mind close enough to touch yours, but you could still use the ring to keep everyone else at a distance. Does that make sense?"

Instead of replying, Zara closed her eyes. Pride sparked in his chest as Charles felt the tentative brush of her mind over his, as she _felt_ the image he described instead of analyzing it through the words he had said. A peaceful smile came over her face. "Yes. It makes sense."

"Then we've done enough work for the day," he said.

**xxx**

Bookstores always had a relaxing effect on Zara. She moved leisurely from section to section, bypassing only mathematics and horror (which were actually one and the same to her, if she thought about it). She felt Charles' amusement, then exaggerated patience, as she selected a few books in the midst of rejecting several others. She straightened up from her examination of a book on the lower shelf and almost knocked heads with Charles, who was now next to her, pointedly looking at his watch.

"All right then," Charles said. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but enough with the books. You at least need to allow me to buy myself a cup of tea. I might be pressured into getting you one as well."

"Really?" she inquired, one eyebrow quirking. "Pressured, you say?"

"Indeed." His eyes were lit with a challenge.

Zara took a quick glance around the shop. Shyly, she reached out and barely grasped the placket of his shirt between the tips of her thumb and index finger. Half of her mind watched in surprised glee as she pulled and he moved forward, his lips catching hers in warmth and stifling the soft moan before it could leave her throat. Tingles bombarded her entire body and she moved closer to him-

-And he had the books out of her hands and was walking calmly to the cash register. Worse, an elderly lady had apparently witnessed the whole thing and was giving Zara an approving look as if to say: "that's right, young lady, you _should_ kiss that young man, and he _should_ pay for your books; that's a sign of what's good in this world."

Blushing fiercely and laughing helplessly, she followed Charles to the front of the store. It was a small shop, but by the time she caught up to him he had already paid and scooped up the bag of purchases. "Tea?" he asked her, a triumphant smile quirking at the corners of his mouth.

"Hot chocolate, if it's not too much trouble," she replied, trying to sound miffed and failing miserably.

"My pleasure," he replied, giving her a wink as he held the door open.

**xxx**

The cafe had outside tables gaily decorated with red tulips. Charles glanced out at Zara as he waited in the cafe's line. She was already deep in one of her new books, using both hands to keep the breeze from turning the pages.

Two mugs and a plate of sweets presented an issue, but the girl behind the counter solved the problem by balancing the plate of macaroons on top of Charles' tea. With Zara's hot chocolate in his other hand, he made his way back outside. Walking slowly, his eyes on the drinks to keep them from sloshing, he carefully stepped around a chair that had been upended. As he moved to set the mugs on the table, a flash of red caught his eye.

The books lay on the ground, red tulips scattered over them.

Zara was gone.

A wild glance around confirmed that she was nowhere nearby. She would not have walked away without saying anything. Ceramic mugs smashed on the sidewalk as Charles brought his fingers to his temple, searching frantically.

Nothing.

Charles knew he had a range of at least 150 miles. If he couldn't feel even a trace of Zara's mind, then she was much further away than that. Or...

Charles shoved that thought out of his head.

"What happened?" he shouted, looking around at the other cafe customers.

"Your books fell," one man said in a _be reasonable_ tone. "It must have been the wind. It's been a bit gusty today."

Several other patrons had the raised eyebrows of surprise, but they were surprised at _him_, he realized. They hadn't seen anything, and a quick skim of everyone's minds confirmed that. How could they not have seen _anything_? Charles gasped in disbelief, and the nauseating smell of sulfur attacked his nose.

"Do you smell that?" he demanded of the man near him.

"It's okay, I think it was just a car that backfired," the man said. "I heard a bang right before you came out-hey, you all right?"

But Charles was already running, running for his car.

**xxx **

Light spilled from behind a door. Heels clicked on a polished floor as a figure approached, pushing the door open.

"Your guest has arrived."

The light reflected off of crimson metal, sliding down to a point between blue-green eyes.

"Excellent," Magneto said.


	13. Chapter 13

As he was running, Charles mentally yelled for Hank.

_"Charles, what is it?"_ Hank's voice responded immediately.

_"Oh, God, Hank, they've taken Zara. Erik's taken Zara." _Charles reached the car and yanked on the door twice, cursed, unlocked the door violently and flung himself inside.

_"What? Erik? Charles, are you sure?"_

_"Of course I'm sure, Hank! It was Azazel. He teleported her out in less than a second. She's gone; I can't feel her mind at all, Hank. Christ-"_

_"Okay, okay. Where are you?"_

_"I'm driving back to the school now; I'll be there in a few minutes."_

_"All right, come to the lab; we'll figure out what to do."_

_"Hank. Why-?"_ His thoughts trailed off.

Coldness and anger seeped into Charles' mind through Hank's_. "Charles, we don't know Erik anymore."_

**xxx**

Magneto stared at Emma, who kept looking back at him, icy and nonplussed. "Is there anything else?" he asked dryly.

"Don't you want to see the little schoolteacher?" Emma purred.

"No, I do not. There's no need for me to see her. Find out what we need to know, and come tell me."

"Easy enough. Any other instructions?"

Magneto paused and then his gaze hardened. "Make sure it doesn't hurt Charles."

"Oh, honey, now you're squeamish? You should realize what you're asking isn't simple."

"I mean it, Emma. If you can't accomplish what I want without hurting him, then you can take your chances selling your wares..." -he looked impassively at her perfect cleavage-"...elsewhere. You're no use to me if you won't follow my instructions. Are we clear?"

Emma rolled her eyes in acquiescence. "Fine," she sighed, turning on her heel and swaying towards the door.

**xxx**

With a screech of tires, Charles threw the car into park and leapt out, barely managing to yank the keys out of the ignition before slamming the door on his own hand. He went at a dead run. His back was burning painfully around the site of his bullet wound and subsequent surgery. Charles ripped open the door to the lab, and Hank was right there, grabbing him by the upper arms and forcing him into a chair.

"Charles, catch your breath. I have Cerebro powered up, but you can't go in there until you're calm."

"Hank, Goddamn it-"

_"So be calm."_

**xxx**

Zara had never felt so small and humiliated in her life.

One second, she had been happily reading the prologue to one of her new books, and then a hand clamped around her arm and she was suddenly...here, on her hands and knees, dizzy and dry heaving from the smell of sulfur and the shock of whatever had happened.

The door clicked, and the most beautiful woman in the world stepped through. She was tall, slender as a willow, blonde, and wearing pearly white leather cut to fit like a glove. If she was a willow, then Zara was a holly bush. _A short holly bush._

"Well, sugar," the woman said with a smirk, "I'm glad to see you're handling this so well."

Zara coughed, then dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. "What's...going on?"

"Right now, you're sitting in this room like a good girl. Later on...well, we'll see, won't we?" She sat gracefully on the one chair in the room. "I can tell you honestly that we're not very interested in you. You're not that special, honey. But your friend Charles...now,_ he_ is something."

"You know Charles?" Zara asked, her voice shaky.

"Oh my, yes. You don't even want to know what he was thinking the first time he saw me in my lingerie. Strong hands, for a man his size. He left bruises." She smiled, as beautiful as an angel. "Have you ever had him inside your head? Of course you have. Was it as good for you as it was for me?" She laughed, the sound like tiny bells jingling on silk ribbons.

"Who_ are_ you?" Zara asked, with all the dignity she could muster.

"Emma Frost," the beautiful woman said. "And I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. Moira, is it? No, silly me. Moira was the _human_ redhead. He's got a thing for redheads, I see."

_Don't get angry, don't get angry._

Zara tried, unsuccessfully, to stop her voice from wavering. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything yet, sugar. Right now, we're just waiting. You might as well get comfy." Emma crossed her elegant legs and sat back in the chair, leaving Zara to push herself up against the wall.

What on earth should she do? Leap to her feet and threaten to perform a Shakespearean soliloquy? Good Lord, she was useless. She had literally no-

_Wait..._

She flicked her eyes quickly at Emma, but the woman was studying her nails. Zara closed her eyes...

She waited. Maybe she could feel something, one tiny thing that would tell her something. _Something.._.

Pain exploded in her head. Zara's eyes shot open and she saw Emma, still relaxed in her chair but with her icy blue eyes fixed on Zara. Emma's eyes narrowed slightly, and the pain escalated until she was horizontal, wailing and begging Emma to _please stop, make it stop, please..._

**xxx**

Opening his mind through Cerebro was a shock and a joy every single time. Nothing could compare to feeling his own limits dissolve and seeing the lights of all those minds appear around him. Today, they reminded him of nothing so much as Zara's stars. He plunged into the universe of Cerebro, searching for the individual light that _was_ Zara, that would connect him to her no matter where she was. Lights whirled and sailed past, and then he felt relief wash over him. She was there, and he was getting closer to her now. Charles reached out-

**xxx**

Zara gasped, feeling the pain retreat slightly as the warmth of Charles' mind began to call to her-

_Oh, Charles, please, she's hurting me-_

**xxx**

Emma smiled sharply, a gleam in her eye-

******xxx**

Charles fought to keep down the panic that was trying to build in him. He kept reaching for Zara, trying to wrap his light around hers, but she was...insubstantial.

_Zara, it's all right, I'm going to find you_-

**xxx**

Hank paced around the perimeter of Cerebro, anxiously switching his gaze from Charles' face to the monitors tracking his progress. _Think, McCoy, think. Why would Erik do this? What could he hope to gain?_

Erik had Emma.

Now, Erik had Zara.

Charles and Zara were connected.

Zara never had any kind of shields that could have withstood Emma.

Charles' shields and the distance protected him from Emma. But, if Emma connected with Zara...

...while Charles was in Cerebro, his mind extended so much farther...

_Oh, God._

Hank's eyes widened. "Charles! Get out of there, now! Get out of Cerebro! CHARLES!"


	14. Chapter 14

The library at Xavier's school was one of the most beautiful rooms in the entire house. The windows were high and arched, providing lots of natural light while protecting the books from direct heat or sun. It smelled of leather, paper, and rich wood. It took Charles a moment to remember why he was standing at the library door, but then a half-smothered giggle wafted back to him through the stacks. Charles smiled.

"You know," he said, starting forward with a measured pace, "I practically grew up in this library. I know every inch. All the small corners, all the hidden spaces." He leaned forward to glance around a corner, and his pulse quickened as he caught a flash of movement. "I hope you're not trying to _hide_ from me. It's a useless endeavor."

Another muffled giggle. Charles could tell where she was now, but why end the fun so quickly?

"Or," he said, his voice low and caressing, "I could read your mind. Just the slightest, most gentle brush. You might not even notice it, I'd be so quick." He listened again, stepping quietly, closing in on her now. "It's not the way I usually like to do things, you understand..." He drizzled his voice with a lazy sweetness, like caramel. "What would I see, I wonder, if I read your mind right now?"

He stepped out quickly and grabbed Zara, wrapping an arm around her waist and gently pushing her up against a shelf of books. The book she was holding flipped out of her hands and hit the floor, pages down.

Pressed up against her, his lips an inch from hers, he tsked. "Miss Reilly," he admonished, "I wouldn't have thought you would ever let a book drop like that." Keeping contact between their bodies, he slid downward, turning his head at the last minute and picking up the book with his right hand, while his left hand quickly brushed her knee. He moved back up to her eye level, holding the book, enjoying the flush in her cheeks and the light in her eyes.

He brought his lips closer, again turning so that they brushed against her ear. "Why don't we see what you were reading, hmmm?"

Zara leaned forward to kiss him, but Charles quickly brought the large book between them. "No, I'm afraid you've piqued my interest, now," he smiled. "I couldn't possibly concentrate on anything else..."-his fingers brushed the hem of her skirt-"...until I know what you were reading."

Her eyes darkened with annoyance for a moment, but then she smiled. "Fine. May I?" she asked, holding up one hand for the book.

"By all means," he said, giving her the book and stepping back to lean against another shelf. She looked down at the book and brushed through pages. In a moment, she smiled and looked back up at Charles.

"Here," she said, placing one finger on the page. "Come and see," she challenged. Charles smiled and stepped forward again, this time putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in so that they were side by side. He idly stroked her arm as he leaned in to see where she was pointing.

_I am your own forever_, he read.

"I love that line," Zara whispered, meeting his eyes steadily. "In this play, particularly. It's so true."

Charles looked at the title of the play: _Othello_.

His hand stopped. His eyes slid back down to the line on the page. Iago, speaking to Othello, swearing his eternal loyalty.

But Charles remembered that in that scene, Iago is lying, using his friendship to lull Othello into a false sense of security. It's a betrayal.

Zara would know that.

This wasn't the library. It was his _memory_ of the library, which meant-

Charles stepped back and let his hands drop slowly back to his sides. "Miss Frost," he said quietly.

Zara smirked for a moment before shimmering and morphing back into Emma, resting one perfect hip on the reading desk. The book disappeared. "Oh, honey, are we really going to be formal?"

"It's probably best," he said. "I prefer to think of myself as a gentleman."

Emma snorted delicately. "As you like. We won't discuss why your mind brought us here, with you about to put your hand up the schoolteacher's skirt."

Charles felt heat rush into his face and he gritted his teeth. "You obviously have an agenda, Miss Frost. Why don't you tell me what it is?"

Emma stood. "It's simple. Your little teacher can get me inside your mind. It's not very comfortable for her, but that really isn't my concern." She smiled as she saw the anger rise in Charles' face. "If you want to make it easier on her, you'll let me find out what I want to know."

"You sound like a matinee villain, Emma," Charles said. "Is it Erik that has you fetching and carrying for him? I would have thought your time with Shaw cured you of that particular impulse."

Emma raised one eyebrow. "Maybe, sugar, I just wanted to see the look on your face," and she turned to diamond and punched Charles in the throat.

Charles reeled back, hands going to his throat as he fought to get a breath in. He collapsed to his knees, his mind screaming for air while his stunned body refused to allow it in. Emma crouched down with impassive grace, her diamond form glittering as she watched Charles struggle.

"Think about it," she said pleasantly, and disappeared.

**xxx**

Zara lay slumped on the floor, her eyes closed, listening as best she could. She heard the tap of Emma's heeled boots and then the click of the lock. To add insult to injury, Emma let the door slam on her way out, causing the pain in Zara's head to skyrocket.

Then, mercifully, there was nothing.

**xxx**

Charles came back to himself slowly, achingly. "Hank..." he rasped.

"Here, Charles." Water touched his lips. "Take a sip."

Charles drank deeply until Hank pulled the cup away. "That's enough for now." Charles felt Hank's finger on his carotid artery. "Your pulse is still elevated, but that's not surprising." He heard Hank sigh. "I'm so sorry, Charles."

Charles opened his eyes slightly and there was Hank, hovering over him just as he had a few days prior. Charles tried to smile. "Have to stop meeting like this."

"It's my fault," Hank said quietly. "By the time I figured out what was happening, you were already connected with Cerebro. I was afraid I'd do damage if I disconnected you like that."

"It was the right thing," Charles said, his voice still hoarse. "What you did. I'll be able to find Zara again, I'm sure. Did you...did we get...coordinates?"

"Yes," Hank said, his voice brightening infinitesimally. "But it's far, Charles. It looks like the Middle East."

"Doesn't matter," Charles replied. "I have to get there."

"I'm not having this argument with you right now, Charles."

"Hank, I know, but-"

"Charles, I mean it. Don't push me on this," Charles could hear the undertone of a growl in Hank's voice.

"Hank, you're going to have to-" and he felt a sting in his arm. He pulled away instinctively, and found that his wrists had been restrained just like before. "Hank!"

"Charles, you have to rest," Hank said, carefully removing the syringe. "Just for a little while, I promise."

His fingers scraped uselessly on Hank's arm as he was submerged into sleep.

**xxx**

_Pain..._

Her head and body throbbed, the pain spiking each time her heart beat.

Charles in her head had felt like a gentle touch. Emma's handiwork felt like the ramming of an icepick through her brain.

_Charles..._

She wanted him desperately, but she was alone. Had she dreamed him?

_Oh God, this pain -_

All right. She knew how to deal with pain. One thing that always helped was if you didn't have a damn choice in the matter.

_Reach out, find your hand. Open the fingers, press them flat_. Twenty-seven bones in one hand. Fourteen joints. She could feel every one of them, the pain dull for right now. A warning.

Zara opened her eyes and focused on her hand. She pressed it to the floor, deliberately increasing the pain that ran from her fingers to her elbow.

_It hurts, it hurts, it hurts so much-_

She let her arm relax, gasping in relief. _That's better, that's better, that's a little bit better-_

She had learned this trick a long time ago. If you increased the pain deliberately, then you also gained the power to decrease it somewhat.

_Push again. Oh God it hurts, it hurts, but I'm doing it, I'm making it hurt and now I'll make it stop-_

She let the relief wash over her and used the moment to roll onto her back. Plain walls, tile floor. Nothing that could tell her anything, or at least, nothing that she was sharp enough to pick out.

_Oh, yes, Shakespeare had been a wonderful thing to study...so useful._

She smiled faintly. It actually _had_ been useful. In the library, the woman - Miss Frost, she remembered - controlled her body and her voice, but she was pulling the behaviors from Zara's mind. Zara had thought of the quote from Othello, and Emma went for it. And Charles, bless him, had recognized it. Emma had hurt them both in retaliation for it, but at least she had done that much for Charles. She closed her eyes again.

**xxx**

Erik fumed quietly as he looked at Emma. She was too smart to be wearing any metal.

"I told you specifically that Charles was not to be harmed, correct?"

"He wasn't harmed," Emma replied. "Uncomfortable, yes, but I didn't harm him. Once he realized it was me, I had to do _something_ to get away. I'd hardly be of use to you if Xavier had me trapped in a mental prison, honey."

"Emma, right now you are dangerously close to being of no use to me whatsoever."

"Don't be so dramatic. I can still do everything I promised you."

"Not by tearing his mind apart because it suits you."

"I'm not doing that. You want this information and I'll get it for you. But remember, neither of them want to give it to me, and that means things might sting a little, sugar. But he'll be fine, and so will she. Go take a look at her if you don't believe me."

Emma had him there, and Erik knew it. He didn't have time to check on every mutant they detained, for whatever reason. But now, if he _didn't_ go check on the teacher, Emma would know she could be heavy-handed without consequences.

Erik stood and walked out purposefully, keeping his frustration under control. The rhythmic tapping of Emma's heels told him that she was following behind, but he ignored her. This would be quick. He would open the door and take a look, and no matter what her condition, he would make sure Emma stepped far more carefully.

As they approached the door, Erik extended his hand and flipped the lock open. "Wait," he snapped over his shoulder at Emma, and she obeyed. He pushed the door open and stepped in.

He expected a cowering prisoner, and he got it. She was on the floor, startled up because of his sudden entry. He could see easily that she was in pain. She looked up at him and he saw the fear in her eyes.

And then she smiled.

"Erik?" she said. "Oh, Erik, it's really you. Oh, Erik, I've missed you so much, I can't believe it's you..."

Erik _jumped_ back into the hallway, slamming the door closed the instant he was clear. He stared at the door, stunned into silence.

"Problems, Magneto?" Emma asked sweetly.


	15. Chapter 15

Erik was on intimate terms with anger.

It was always with him, flowing through his entire body; the thrumming emotion was as familiar and necessary as his own heartbeat. It was a tool for him, to be shaped and directed just as metal was.

The last person who made him lose control was Shaw.

He would not lose control now.

"I'm not going to ask you what that was, Emma, because I already know," Erik growled, slowly turning to face her. "It was a _miscalculation_. A juvenile trick worthy of whatever pampered pink champagne finishing school you might have attended."

Emma's smile might have been from a mother to her child. "What part of _connection_ did you not understand, sugar? Charles remembers you, so now she does, too. You should be thanking me. You have proof that she's got access to Charles' mind."

"You said access to his _mind_, not his memories."

"They're one and the same, sugar. You, of all people, should know that." Her smile grew, causing shards of rage to begin carving the inside of his stomach.

Erik extended his hand and the door screeched in protest. Metal tore out of the doorknob and lock, then liquified and floated to him like a gossamer ribbon. Erik reformed it again into a razor-sharp chisel, and he pressed the edge to Emma's throat. She morphed into diamond an instant before it touched her skin.

"Have you ever seen a diamond being cut, Emma?" he asked pleasantly. "I have. It's not as difficult as you might think. All you have to do is find the correct angle, and it cleaves apart. Diamond may be the hardest substance on earth, but it's nowhere near the strongest."

He enjoyed watching the smile disappear from her face. "Try to manipulate me like that again, and we'll find out how easily you cleave apart."

"Erik, _that's enough_."

He whirled to see the teacher, visible now that the door hung open with no knob or lock. She was unsteady on her feet, but her eyes met his and he realized-

Charles' words.

In her voice.

He leapt at her, chisel still in hand; he used his own body weight to slam her against the wall and took pleasure in her cry of pain and shock. Erik brought the chisel up in front of her eyes and asked calmly: "Charles?"

"It's not," came Emma's voice from behind him. Without turning, he flung the chisel back at Emma, smiling as he heard her dodge the projectile. "Go away, Emma," he said calmly, and she did, the sound of her heels fading at a slightly faster-than-normal pace.

Erik took a moment to focus on his breathing and the larger picture. He forced the anger down, away from his throat, his heart, his mind, and back into that subtle pulse under his skin. He let his senses flow out, feeling the metal in the room and around her...there were _steel sutures_ near her heart, interesting...

He locked his eyes on hers and asked again. "Charles?"

She shook her head slightly. "No. Zara."

Erik smiled. "What kind of a name is that?" he asked, and wrapped gentle threads of power around the sutures.

She actually drew breath to answer him, but he started to pull slowly, feeling the sutures begin to dig into her heart and watching her eyes widen with the realization of what was happening.

"Tell me the truth, _Zara_. Is Charles here right now? Is he listening to us? Because if he is, and you don't tell me, I will pull these sutures out through your chest, and all he can do is give you a pretty hallucination to watch while you die."

He would not care what happened to Charles' teacher, as long as it didn't happen to Charles. Charles was the exception.

Charles was the last person who had smiled when Erik entered a room.

******xxx**

Hank knew what everyone thought of him. The boring scientist, the uptight nerd, the living example of things gone wrong. He couldn't blame it all on the lab accident; kids had called him those names and worse since he was old enough to be last-picked for the kickball team. People always assumed the good news was part of the natural order of the world; the bad news must be because someone hadn't worked hard enough.

If Charles died while in Cerebro because of a brain hemorrhage, no one would ever chalk that up to the natural order of the world. It would be Hank's fault, no question.

Charles would wake up soon. He wouldn't call Hank names, but whatever he did say would be a hundred times worse.

Hank could take it. Charles might not forgive, but eventually he would understand.

**xxx**

They were locked in a parody of a romantic embrace, Zara gasping from the strange pain and Erik keeping her pressed to the wall.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Is there anything in those _memories_ of yours that says I'm not a man of my word?"

"Nothing," she whispered back.

He backed away from her in one smooth motion, moving to the chair and sitting down.

"Please," he said, indicating that she was welcome to sit back down on the ground.

She eyed the floor, but kept standing.

"So," Erik began again. "is Charles in your mind right now?"

"No," she replied tiredly. "I felt him for a moment, a while ago...but that was it."

"He was using Cerebro?"

"I've never seen Cerebro. I'm not sure. Is it like your helmet?"

"This helmet protects me from telepaths like you," he replied.

"Oh," she said politely, as though he had just told her his favorite color. Then her brow furrowed. "I'm not a telepath."

"Don't bother lying to me."

"Charles says I'm not. A telepath, that is. I'm an empath."

"There's a difference?"

"Charles told me," and she smiled at this, "that if he sees the literal words, then I see the pictures."

"Good. You have a choice. You can tell me all about your pictures, or I'll bring Emma back to dig them out of your mind."

"What could you possibly want to find out? I don't really know a lot of facts, just feelings. Besides," she frowned slightly, "it's not working."

"What?"

"Your helmet. It's not working." She gestured slightly towards his helmet. "I can still see you."

He tensed, but replied lightly. "I'm sitting right here."

"No, I mean...I can see it. The wall. _Your_ wall." Her voice became dreamy. "Razor wire...chocolate...yellow stars. Sand. Silver coins. Mud on white marble. Bullets and black chess pawns."

Silence had served Erik better than anything else over the years, and it was what he used now. He crossed his arms, kept his face blank, and continued to look at Zara.

She sighed. "You wished he had ignored what you said, and gone back inside your mind. But he didn't dare. Charles was sure he'd lose you if he crossed that line. You were sure you'd lose him if he saw you as you really were. No one could love bullets and mud, you thought."

He would not tell her to stop. Nothing she said could affect him.

"You aren't sure what's worse," Zara said. "That I know these things, or that Charles feels them. Or that you aren't there with him. I don't know, either. But I know you won't hurt him. And, I know he loves you."

A smile pulled faintly at the corner of Erik's mouth. "Charles would never say that."

"He never has," came the startling reply. "Charles hasn't told me anything about you, except that you were gone." Erik stared at her. "He tried to help me...get my powers going, and so he reached out to me, and then all of a sudden I began to see things, feel things, and they weren't from me, they were from him. They were about him. And you."

She didn't take her eyes from him as she said, "That's how I know you will never hurt Charles. You might-" her voice broke,"-kill me, if you think it's necessary. You might. But you'll die before you let anyone hurt Charles. Even yourself."

"I'm not going to hurt you, Zara," he said quietly. "Not as long as you give me what I want."

"Erik," she breathed. "no one can give you that."


	16. Chapter 16

_**Author's Note: Yeesh, everybody. Sorry this took so long. Thanks for hanging in there!**_

No sooner had Zara finished speaking than Erik had sprung from his chair. He was against her in an instant, his large hand wrapped around her throat. His fingers rested lightly; his thumb stroked her pulse. "Really?" he asked, his voice a blend of mockery and menace. "You're quite confident in that, aren't you? That's Charles talking. He was always sure he knew more than anyone else." He looked her in the eyes and his voice hardened. "Don't talk "Charles" to me, Zara. I've heard it already. I've heard it all." He tightened his fingers on her throat the slightest bit.

Zara raised her chin instinctively. "Don't 'talk Charles' to you, Erik?" she said. "Isn't that why you brought me here, to tell you about Charles? Why don't you want to hear it now?"

"Do you know what I see when I look at you, Zara?" He pressed against her, relaxed and insolently sensual. "You've never starved. Your entire life has been temperature-controlled. You've never faced death."

Zara stifled a laugh, surprising them both. "If that's the criteria for talking to you, no wonder you're lonely."

Erik's smile was coldly amused as he stroked his thumb over her throat again, the gentleness of his touch contradicting the strength in his hands. "I'm sure you'll forgive me if I don't care to waste time listening to some drivel you think is a wise lesson."

"Do you know what I see when I look at _you_, Erik?" Zara felt her smile tighten. "Bricks in your wall that are the color of Charles' eyes."

"Zara, one of your many problems is that you assume I care about _anything_ you think you see."

"You want me to get angry at that, don't you? You expect me to become offended and decide you're not worth talking to. You hope if you dismiss me as nothing, I'll be desperate to prove you wrong. You think that if you keep your eyes blank I'll assume it's because you've seen everything and you're afraid of nothing. But you and I know the truth, Erik, and so does Charles. The only thing you're still afraid of is him. Because _he_ is the only thing you're still running from."

The words kept tumbling out. "I know you, Erik, and I don't give a damn whether you believe me or not, whether you think I'm _worthy_ or not. It's the truth. So much was taken from you. _Why_ do you have to keep taking from yourself?"

He leaned even closer to her, this time letting his lips brush the curve of her ear. "You really think if you say the right thing, I'll sit at your feet and beg you for more? All you're doing is reinforcing my decision to have Emma sort through your mind, and not to be gentle about it."

Her heart was pounding, the ache where he had twisted her sutures still there. God, if she could only show him, she had to _show him_ this was coming from Charles' true feelings and not from her own frantic desire to stay alive.

_The ring._

The ring Charles showed her in the park...a day ago? A year? _"Think of it as a ring surrounding your mind, with everyone else on the outside of the ring," Charles had said. "The larger the ring expands, the farther away those other minds will be from you. You might pull one mind close enough to touch yours..."_

Blue-silver haze obscured her vision. She saw the ring around her, and she lifted it to catch Erik inside, to encompass him. But because Zara _was_ the ring, she was pulled along with it, like rope chasing an anchor. In the next instant, she had her hands on Erik's face, her forehead against his chin, her mind frenetically flinging images towards him.

* * *

"Hank."**  
**

Hank sat back in his chair and looked at Charles, who still had creases from his pillowcase marking his cheek. Charles had been awake for over an hour; moving about the lab, taking a shower, and quietly dressing in the clothes Hank had left for him. Hank had matched Charles' silence as best he could; he didn't want to start their conversation any sooner than necessary. But the time had come.

"Charles," he replied.

"Clean slate, Hank," Charles said. "It's a new day. I've rested. I need you to help me with Cerebro."

Hank shook his head, slowly. "It's not that simple, Charles."

"Hank," Charles said gently. "Are you going to forbid me from ever going in there again? Never looking for another student?"

"No. I'm asking you to consider the scientific evidence that indicates what might happen if you continue to look for Zara."

"Hank-"

"No, Charles. This is what I have to say. I would appreciate you hearing me out."

Charles' face softened slightly. "All right then."

Hank took a deep breath. "We know that using Cerebro pushes you to your absolute limits, correct?"

"Well," Hank looked at him, and Charles sighed. "Correct."

"You are working to move beyond those limits."

"Correct."

"It's a long process, like building muscle. If you move too fast, the muscle could snap."

"Correct..." Charles replied again, a thread of reluctance beginning to color his voice.

"You are the one person everyone here at the school depends on."

"Hank!"

Hank's gaze hardened, and he kept firm eye contact with Charles. "Correct?"

To deny it would prove to Hank that his worries were well-founded. That Charles couldn't be trusted. "I think you denigrate your role here, but if someone has to be first, then yes, Hank."

"Going back into Cerebro and looking for Zara again would make you vulnerable to Emma."

"I'll be prepared this time-"

"Correct?" Hank pressed.

"Not proven."

"Preliminary evidence shows?"

Charles paused. "That it's possible."

Hank nodded slightly, but said nothing else. Charles moved to a chair and sat down. A few minutes of silence passed before Charles looked at him again.

"Would you consider a compromise?"

"Charles, don't-"

"I mean it, Hank. No tricks. An actual compromise."

Hank took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm listening."

* * *

Erik thought he was dreaming. Pictures flew past his eyes, fizzing with energy.

_An empty chessboard._

Of course. He hadn't played chess since the night before Cuba. With Charles.

_A fireplace, the warm light refracted through a crystal glass._

Something simple. She was a teacher in the school, the place was slathered in luxury. There was probably a fireplace and crystal in the broom closet. She would know.

_Cold steel, the metal crooning to him in tingles and shivers, pressed against his forehead._

That feeling, she had pulled from his head. No one could know what that felt like. She _was_ a telepath, damn her for a liar. He tried to turn away, but the images kept whirling around him like electrons circling an atom.

_There's so much more to you than you know. Not just pain, and anger. _

No. No, not that. That memory was his.

_There's good, too. I've felt it._

Charles would not have told her that. The anger bubbled below the surface of his skin. And then something else finally pulled free, and now he knew, _Erik knew_, that-

_Charles had cared for him so...had loved him._

Rage erupted. He grabbed her wrists and slammed her back against the wall, his power grabbing her sutures again, twisting them until she choked with pain and the images finally disappeared.

"God damn you," he hissed in her face. "It's not true!"

"It is, Erik, I know it is-"

"Oh?" He punctuated his words with another twist of the sutures, and _yes_, now she was panicking, thrashing in his hold, all control gone.

"Please, stop! Erik, _please_!"

"Fine." He shook her one last time, then shoved her away, letting her collapse at his feet. "I'd like to hear how you're so _fucking_ certain about something Charles never deigned to mention to me. Never," he panted. "If you lie to me, I'll strangle you."

* * *

Hank moved silently, slowly, around Charles, carefully connecting wires, but never looking him in the eye. Charles stood quietly in Cerebro, alternating between suppressing his own guilt and sending out tiny brushes of reassurance to Hank as he worked.

"If I think you're getting pulled away, Charles, I'll disconnect you," Hank said quietly.

"That's fair," Charles replied.

"No signal, no second chance."

"I understand."

* * *

Zara coughed as she searched wildly for the right words, not daring to look up at Erik. "When Charles and I first, um...connected..."

"Is that a euphemism, Zara?"

Zara shut her eyes tightly. "No," she said carefully, shoving the anger away. "It isn't. It was just thoughts. About you. But, they were so strong, Erik." She risked a glance upward; his face hadn't changed. "Charles has a million things in his mind, always. But none of those thoughts came out to me. Just the pain of losing you, missing you. Loving you."

She sighed. "But, something else happened. Neither of us expected it. Once we were connected...I didn't just see the pictures of his thoughts. I felt the feelings. I was sharing his pain...and his love."

Her breath hitched. "That's how I know he loves you, Erik. The real you. The Erik that killed Shaw; the Erik that left him on the beach. I know he loves you..." her voice went hoarse. "...because I love you, too."

For a long time, all Zara heard was a far-away buzzing sound and the rasp of her own breathing. Finally, Erik spoke. His voice didn't change one bit.

"Charles loving me is his own bad luck."

"You're going to ignore what I just told you?"

"Jealous, are we?" he smirked down at her.

"It's not like that," she said, realizing it sounded _exactly_ like that.

"I suppose I should mention that I do find your declaration flattering," he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped back at him, blood heating her face.

"If Charles feels that way, he can come tell me himself. I'll listen to him."

"I don't believe you. That's not your life philosophy. Whatever you lost along the way, you decided that you had to be damn well better off without it."

"How are you so sure?"

"Otherwise, _you_ would have come back to Charles."

A long pause.

"I'm not stupid, Erik. Or oblivious. And deciding it's better to live without something doesn't stop you wanting it."

Erik huffed a laugh. "Are you saying you don't love me anymore?"

"I'm saying that Charles still does."

"Then he's a fool."

She laughed again. "Who asks permission before falling in love with someone? Not you, Erik Lehnsherr. Not even me."

Zara summoned the rest of her strength. "I'll tell you anything you want to know, Erik. Charles would want me to tell you. But first, you have to ask." She smiled. "Because I want to be able to look at Charles and tell him that you _wanted_ to know. He deserves that much."

"Apparently, you think he deserves quite a bit."

"Jealous, are we?" she retorted.

The sutures twisted again. "For God's sake, rip them out if you're going to!" she shouted, rising up on her knees. "I know you can do it, Erik, and I know why you haven't! Because a tiny part of you _wants_ to hear what I have to say, you thickheaded, arrogant, remorseless, _jackass_!"

At that, his face changed infinitesimally, but it had finally become too much. She slumped backwards, body and mind like a stained glass mosaic that had shattered; each bit of color separate and lonely, covered by the dark.


End file.
